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Title: Godey's Lady's Book - Philadelphia V 48, February, 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.

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    An Antidote,                                                   188

    Anecdote of Byron,                                             130.

    A Pleasant Letter,                                             152

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

    Aunt Tabitha's Fireside, by _Edith Woodley_,                   150

    A Valentine, by _Clara Moreton_,                               165

    A Warning to Lovers,                                           187

    Babylon, Nineveh, and Mr. Layard,                              134

    Braid Patterns,                                                172

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

    Broderie Anglaise for Flouncing,                               173

    Caps,                                                          170

    Celestial Love Letters,                                        118

    Celestial Phenomena, by _D. W. Belisle_,                       131

    Centre-Table Gossip,                                           187

    Chemistry for Youth,                                           185

    Decorated Parlor Windows,                                       97

    Development of the Lungs,                                      107

    Dying, by _Bell_,                                              165

    Editors' Table,                                                175

    Edna, by _Ellen Alice Moriarty_,                               164

    Embroidered Collar,                                            174

    Embroidered Screen,                                            171

    Embroidery for Shirts,                                         169

    Enigmas,                                                       185

    Fashions,                                                      189

    Godey's Arm-Chair,                                             181

    Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing,                          115

    Ingenuity of Bees,                                             133

    Instantaneous Flowering of Plants,                             161

    Instructions for making Ornaments in Rice Shell-Work,          154

    Juvenile Books.--From Evans & Brittan,                         188

    Letters Left at the Pastry Cook's, _Edited by Horace Mayhew_,  128

    Literary Notices,                                              177

    Literature for Ladies,                                         175

    Mantillas, from the celebrated Establishment of
      G. Brodie, New York,                               100, 167, 168

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

    Novelties for the Coming Season,                               170

    Our Practical Dress Instructor,                                168

    Parlor Work,                                                   188

    Patterns for Embroidery,                                       172

    Petticoat Trimming.--In Broderie Anglaise,                     173

    Receipts, &c.,                                                 186

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

    Sonnets, by _Wm. Alexander_,                                   163

    The Borrower's Department,                                     184

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

    The Evening Walk, by _Richard Coe_,                            162

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

    The Miser, by _Charles Leland Porter_,                         163

    The New Sewing-Machine,                                        127

    The Orphan Boy, by _Robert G. Allison_,                        163

    The Scotch Piper,                                              184

    The Toilet,                                                    187

    The Trials of a Needle-Woman, by _T. S. Arthur_,               119

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

    Transplanting Roses,                                           188

    Valentine's Day,                                               156

    Vegetable Physiology, by _Harland Coultas_,                    148

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

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

    Woman the Physician of her own Sex,                            176

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



    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.

[Illustration: THE EVENING WALK.

_Engraved by H. G. Armstrong for Godey's Lady's Book._]




[Illustration: The Farm Yard.]





    Fig. 1.      Fig. 2.

From W. H. CARRYL'S celebrated depot for Curtains, Furniture Coverings,
Window Shades, and all kinds of parlor trimmings, No. 169 Chestnut
Street, corner of Fifth, Philadelphia. (For description, see page






[Illustration: WALTZ.]


[Illustration: THE MOSCOW WRAPPER.

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








The Piano-Forte Action Regulator adjusts the action in all its
operations. Those parts are supplied and fitted that are still wanting
to complete it. The depth of the touch is regulated, the keys levelled,
the drop of the hammer adjusted, and all is now seemingly in order for
playing; but in Messrs. Boardman & Gray's Factory, the instrument has
to undergo another ordeal in the way of regulating; for, after standing
for several days or weeks, and being tuned and somewhat used, it passes
into the hands of another and last regulator, who again examines
minutely every part, readjusts the action, key by key, and note by
note, until all is as it were, perfect. And now its tone must be
regulated, and the "hammer finisher" takes it in charge, and gives it
the last finishing touch; every note from the bass to the treble must
give out a full, rich, even, melodious tone. This is a very important
branch of the business; for great care and much experience are required
to detect the various qualities and shades of tone, and to know how to
alter and adjust the hammer in such a way as to produce the desired
result. Some performers prefer a hard or brilliant tone; others a full
soft tone; and others, again, a full clear tone of medium quality.
It is the hammer-finisher's duty to see that each note in the whole
instrument shall correspond in quality and brilliancy with the others.
The piano-fortes of Messrs. Boardman & Gray are celebrated for their
full organ tone, and for the even quality of each note; for the rich,
full, and harmonious music, rather than the noise, which they make; and
a discriminating public have set their stamp of approbation on their
efforts, if we may judge by the great and increasing demand for their

The instrument, after being tuned, is ready for the ware-room or parlor.


But several operations we have purposely passed by, as it was our wish
to give a clear idea of the structure of the piano-forte by exhibiting,
from stage to stage, the progress of the manufacture of the musical
machinery. Let us now look after the construction of the other parts of
the instrument.

The "leg-bodies," as they come from the machine, are cut out in shape
in a rough state, ready for being veneered (or covered with a thin
coating of rosewood or mahogany); and, as they are of various curved
and crooked forms, it is a trade by itself to bend the veneers and
apply them correctly. The veneers are curved and bent to the shapes
required while hot, or over hot irons, and then applied to the
leg-bodies by "calls," or blocks of wood cut out to exactly fit the
surface to be veneered. These calls are heated in the steam ovens. The
surface of the leg having been covered with glue, the veneer is put on,
and then the hot call is applied and screwed to it by large handscrews
holding the veneer closely and firmly to the surface to be covered. The
call, by warming the glue, causes it to adhere to the legs and veneer;
and, when cold and dry, holds the veneer firmly to its place, covering
the surface of the leg entire, and giving it the appearance of solid
rosewood, or of whatever wood is used for the purpose. Only one surface
can be veneered at a time, and then the screws must remain on until
it is cold or dry; and, as the legs have many distinct surfaces, they
must be handled many times, and, of course, much labor is expended on
them. After all the sides are veneered, they must be trimmed, scraped,
and finished, and all imperfections in the wood made perfect, ready for
being varnished.

The desks are made by being so framed together as to give strength,
then veneered, and, after being varnished and polished, are sawed out
in beautiful forms and shapes by scroll saws, in the machine-shop. They
have thus to pass through quite a number of processes before they are
ready to constitute a part of a finished piano-forte. The same can be
said of many other parts of the instrument that are made separate, and
applied when wanted in the instrument, such as lyres, leg-blocks, or
caps, &c. And, as each workman is employed at but one branch alone, and
perfects his part, it is evident that, when put together correctly, the
whole will be perfect. And, as Messrs. Boardman & Gray conduct their
business, there are from twenty to twenty-four distinct kinds of work
or trades carried on in their establishment. Thus, the case-maker makes
cases; the leg-maker legs; the key-maker keys; the action-maker action;
the finisher duts the action into the piano; the regulator adjusts it;
and thus each workman bends the whole of his energies and time to the
one branch at which he is employed. The result of this division of
labor is strikingly shown in the perfection to which Messrs. Boardman
& Gray have brought the art of piano-forte making, as may be seen in
their superior and splendid instruments.

The putting together the different parts of the piano-forte, such as
the top, the legs, the desk, the lyre, &c., to the case, constitutes
what is called fly-finishing. The top is finished by the case-maker
in one piece, and remains so until varnished and polished; then the
fly-finisher saws it apart, and applies the butts or hinges, so that
the front will open over the keys; puts on all the hinges; hangs the
front or "lock-board" to the top; and completes it. He also takes the
legs as they come from the leg-maker, and fits them to the case by
means of a screw cut on some hard wood, such as birch or iron-wood,
one end of which is securely fastened into the leg, and the other end
screws into the bottom of the piano. The fly-finisher also puts on the
castors, locks, and all the finishing minutiæ to complete the external
furniture of the instrument, when it is ready for the ware-rooms, to
which it is next lowered by means of a steam elevator, sufficiently
large to hold a piano-forte placed on its legs, together with the
workman in charge of it.

The following plate exhibits a piano-forte on the elevator passing
from the fly-finisher's department to the ware-rooms. Of these steam
elevators there are two, one at each end of the building; one for
passing workmen, as well as lumber, to and from the machine-shop and
drying-rooms, and one for passing cases and pianos up and down to the
different rooms. Much ingenuity is shown in their construction, being
so adjusted as to be sent up or down by a person on either floor, or
by one on the platform, who, going or stopping at will, thus saves an
immense amount of hard labor.

Water from the Albany water-works is carried throughout the building
on to each floor, with sinks, hose, and every convenience for the
workmen, so that they may have no occasion to leave the premises during
the working hours. One thing we must not forget to point out, and
that is the Top Veneering-Press, made on the plan of "Dicks's Patent
Anti-Friction Press" (shown in the following engraving on the upper
floor at left hand), and we believe the only press of the kind in the
world. It was made to order expressly for Messrs. Boardman & Gray, and
its strong arms and massive iron bed-plates denote that it is designed
for purposes where power is required. It is used in veneering the tops
for their piano-fortes, and it is warranted that two men at the cranks,
in a moment's time, can produce a pressure of one hundred tons with
perfect ease. It is so arranged that the veneers are laid for several
tops at one time. Tops made and veneers laid under such a pressure
will remain level and true and perfectly secure. Messrs. Boardman &
Gray have used this press upwards of eighteen months, and find that
it works excellently, and consider it a great addition to their other
labor-saving machines.


Having thus given a passing glance at most of the mechanical parts
of the piano-forte, we will now examine the varnishing and polishing
departments, consisting of some five or more large rooms. As the
different layers of varnish require time to dry, it is policy to let
the varnish harden while the workmen are busy putting in the various
internal parts of the piano. Thus the case, when it comes from the
case-maker, goes first to the first varnishing-room, and receives
several coats of varnish; and, when the workman is ready to put in the
sounding-board and iron frame, it is taken from the varnish-room to his
department; and, when he has finished his work, it is again returned
to the varnishing department, where it remains until the finisher wants
it, who, when done with it, returns it to the varnishing-room. Thus,
these varnishing-rooms are the store-rooms for not only the cases, but
all the parts that are varnished; and the drying of the varnishing
is going on all the time that the other work is progressing. In this
establishment, from 150 to 200 pianos are being manufactured in the
course of each day. In the varnish-rooms, from 100 to 150 cases are at
all times to be seen; others are in the hands of the workmen in the
different rooms, in the various stages of progress towards completion.
Besides the cases in the varnish-rooms, we may see all the different
parts of the pianos in dozens and hundreds, legs, lyres, tops, desks,
bars, &c. &c., forming quite a museum in its way. The processes of
varnishing and polishing are as follows: The cases, which are all of
rosewood, are covered first with a spirit-varnish made with shellac
gum, which, drying almost instantly, becomes hard, and keeps the gum
or pitch of the rosewood from acting on the regular oil varnish. After
the case has been "shellacked," it then receives its first "coat of
varnish" and left to dry; and then a second coat is applied, and again
it is left to dry. The varnish used is made of the hardest kind of
copal gum, and prepared for this express purpose. It is called scraping
varnish; it dries hard and brittle, and is intended to fill in the
grain of the wood. When it becomes thoroughly dry and hard, these two
coats are scraped off with a steel scraper. The case then receives
several coats of another kind of varnish; when this is dried, it is
ready for rubbing, which is effected by means of an article made of
cloth fastened on blocks of wood or cork; and the varnish is rubbed on
with ground pumice stone and water (a process somewhat similar to that
of polishing marble). A large machine, driven by the engine, is used
for rubbing the tops of pianos and other large surfaces. When the whole
surface is perfectly smooth and even, it receives an additional coat
of varnish. Each coat having become dry, hard, and firm, the surface
receives another rubbing until it is perfectly smooth, when it receives
a last flowing coat. After it is thoroughly dried and hardened, it is
ready for the polishing process, which consists in first rubbing the
surface with fine rotten stone, and then polishing with the fingers and
hands until the whole surface is like a mirror wherein we can

    "See ourselves as others see us."


In the preceding statement, we have simply given an outline of the
mechanical branches of the business, and a general description of
the lumber required, and its peculiar seasoning and preparation
prior to use. Large quantities of rosewood are used for veneering
and carved work, slipping, &c. Just now, this is the fashionable
wood for furniture; nothing else is used in the external finish of
the piano-fortes of Messrs. Boardman & Gray. A view of their large
veneer-room would excite the astonishment of the novice. Rosewood is
brought from South America, and is at present a very important article
of commerce, a large number of ships being engaged in this trade alone,
to say nothing of the thousands employed in getting it from its native
forests for shipping, and the thousands more busy in preparing it for
the market after it has reached this country. Much that is used by
Messrs. Boardman & Gray is sawed into veneers, and prepared expressly
for them at the mills at Cohoes, N. Y. They buy large quantities at a
time, and, of course, have a large supply on hand ready for immediate
use. They always select the most richly-figured wood in the market,
believing that rich music should always proceed from a beautiful
instrument. Thick rosewood is constantly undergoing seasoning for
those portions which require solid wood. And one thing, dear reader,
we would say; and that is, where rosewood veneers are put on hard
wood well seasoned, and prepared correctly, they are much more durable
than the solid rosewood would be, not being so liable to check and
warp. They also make use of a large quantity of hardware in the form of
"tuning pins"--upwards of a ton per year. Of iron plates they use some
twenty-five tons. Their outlay for steel music wire amounts to hundreds
of dollars per year; not to speak of the locks, pedal feet, butts and
hinges, plated covering wire for the bass strings, bridge pins, centre
pins, steel springs, and screws of various kinds and sizes, of which
they use many thousand gross annually. Of all these, they must keep a
supply constantly on hand, as it will not do for their work to stop
for want of materials. A large capital is at command at all times;
and, as many of these things require to be made expressly to order,
calculation, judgment, and close attention are needed to keep all
moving smoothly on.

Cloth is used for a variety of purposes in the establishment of Messrs.
Boardman & Gray. It is made and prepared expressly for their use, from
fine wool, of various thicknesses and colors, according to the use for
which it is designed. Whether its texture be heavy or thick, firm or
loose, smooth or even, soft or hard, every kind has its peculiar place
and use. Here we would give a word of caution to the reader. So much
cloth is used in and about the action of the piano-forte, that we must
beware of the insidious moth, which will often penetrate and live in
its soft folds, thereby doing much damage to the instrument. A little
spirits of turpentine, or camphor, is a good protection against them.

Ivory is another article which is largely used. Being expensive, no
little capital is employed in keeping an adequate supply at all times
on hand.

And then there is buckskin of various kinds and degrees of finish,
sand-paper, glue, and a variety of other things, all of which are
extensively employed in the business.

So far, we have treated merely of materials and labor. We have said
nothing of the science of piano-forte making. If, after all the pains
taken in selecting and preparing the materials required, the scale
of the instrument shall not be correctly laid down on scientific
principles; that is to say, if the whole is not constructed in a
scientific manner, we shall not have a perfect musical instrument. So
the starting-point in making a piano-forte is in having a scale by
which to work. This scale must be of the most improved pattern, and
laid out with the utmost nicety, and with mathematical precision. By
the scale, we mean the length of each string, and the shape of the
bridges over which it passes. The length of the string for each note,
and its size, are calculated by mathematical rules, and perfected by
numerous experiments; and by these experiments alone can perfection
be attained in the manufacture of the instrument. Messrs. Boardman &
Gray use new and improved circular scales of their own construction, in
which they have embodied all the improvements which have from time to
time been discovered. They are determined that nothing shall surpass,
if anything equals, their DOLCE CAMPANA ATTACHMENT.


The great improvement of this age in the manufacture of the piano-forte
is the Dolce Campana Attachment, invented by Mr. Jas. A. Gray, of
the firm of Boardman & Gray, and patented in 1848 not only in this
country, but in England and her colonies. It consists of a series of
weights held in a frame over the bridge of the piano-forte, which is
attached to the sounding-board; for the crooked bridge of the piano, at
the left hand, is fast to and part of the sounding-board. The strings
passing over, and firmly held to this bridge, impart vibration to the
sounding-board, and thus tone to the piano. These weights, resting in
a frame, are connected with a pedal, so that when the pedal is pressed
down, they are let down by their own weight, and rest on screws or
pins inserted in the bridge, the tops of which are above the pins that
hold the strings, and thus control the vibrations of the bridge and
sounding-board. By this arrangement, almost any sound in the music
scale can be obtained, _ad libitum_, at the option of the pianist; and
as it is so very simple, and in no way liable to get out of order, or
to disturb the action of the piano, of course it must be valuable.
But let us listen for ourselves. We try one of the full rich-toned
pianos we have described, and, pressing down the pedal, the tone is
softened down to a delicious, clear, and delicate sweetness, which is
indescribably charming, "like the music of distant clear-toned bells
chiming forth their music through wood and dell." We strike full chords
with the pedal down, and, holding the key, let the pedal up slowly, and
the music swells forth in rich tones which are perfectly surprising.
Thus hundreds of beautiful effects are elicited at the will of the
performer. This Dolce Campana Attachment is the great desideratum
which has been required to perfect the piano-forte, and by using it
in combination with the other pedals of the instrument, the lightest
shades of _altissimo_, alternating with the _crescendo_ notes, may
be produced with comparative ease. Its peculiar qualities are the
clearness, the brilliancy, and the delicacy of its touch. Those who,
in the profession, have tested this improvement have, almost without
an exception, given it their unqualified approbation; and amateurs,
committees of examination, editors, clergymen, and thousands of others
also speak of it in terms of the highest praise. Together with the
piano-forte of Messrs. Boardman & Gray, it has received ten first class
premiums by various fairs and institutes. And we predict that but a few
years will pass ere no piano-forte will be considered perfect without
this famous attachment.

We must now examine its structure and finish. The attachment consists
of a series of weights of lead cased in brass, and held in their places
by brass arms, which are fastened in a frame. This frame is secured, at
its ends, to brass uprights screwed into the iron frame of the piano;
and the attachment frame works in these uprights on pivots, so that the
weights can be moved up or down from the bridge. The frame rests on a
rod which passes through the piano, and connected with the pedal; and
the weights are kept raised off the pins or screws in the bridge by
means of a large steel spring acting on a long lever under the bottom
of the piano, against which the pedal acts; so that the pressing down
of the pedal lets the attachment down on to its rests on the bridge,
and thus controls the vibrations of the sounding-board and strings.
The weights and arms are finished in brass or silver. The frame in
which they rest is either bronzed or finished in goldleaf, and thus the
whole forms a most beautiful addition to the interior finish of the


Messrs. Boardman & Gray have applied upwards of a thousand of these
attachments to piano-fortes, many of which have been in use four and
five years, and they have never found that the attachment injured the
piano in any way. As their piano-fortes without the attachment have
no superiors for perfection in their manufacture, for the fulness and
sweetness of their tone, for the delicacy of their touch and action, it
may easily be seen how, with this attachment, they must distance all

And now, dear reader, we have attempted to show you how good
piano-fortes are made; to give you an idea of the varied materials
which are requisite for this purpose; and to describe the numerous
processes to which they are subjected, before a really perfect
instrument can be produced.

The manufacturing department is under the immediate supervision of
Mr. James A. Gray, one of the firm, who gives his time personally
to the business. He selects and purchases all the materials used in
the establishment. He is thoroughly master of his vocation, having
made it a study for life. No piano-forte is permitted to leave the
concern until it has been submitted to his careful inspection. If, on
examination, an instrument proves to be imperfect, it is returned
to the workman to remedy the defect. He is constantly introducing
improvements, and producing new patterns and designs, to keep up, in
all things, with the progress of the age.

The senior partner of the firm, Mr. Wm. G. Boardman, attends to the
sales, and gives his attention to the financial department of the
business. Thus, the proprietors reap the benefit of a division of
labor in their work, and each is enabled to devote his entire time and
energies to his own duties. Their great success is a proof of their
industry and honorable devotion to their calling. They are gentlemen in
every sense of the word, esteemed by all who know them, and honored and
trusted by all who have business connections with them. They liberally
compensate the workmen in their employ, and act on the principle that
the "laborer is worthy of his hire." Their workmen never wait for
the return due their labor. Their compensation is always ready, with
open hand. The business of the proprietors has increased very rapidly
for the last few years, and, although they are constantly enlarging
and improving their works, they find themselves unable to satisfy
the increasing demand for their piano-fortes. Their establishment is
situated at the corner of State and Pearl Streets, Albany, N. Y., well
known as the "_Old Elm-Tree Corner_."

Their store is always open to the public, and constantly thronged with
customers and visitors, who meet with attention and courtesy from the
proprietors and persons in attendance. We would advise our readers,
should business or pleasure lead them to the capital of the Empire
State, to call on Messrs. Boardman & Gray at their ware-rooms, even
though they should not wish to purchase anything from them; for they
may spend an hour very pleasantly in examining and listening to their
beautiful and fine-toned piano-fortes with the Dolce Campana Attachment.


Have your piano-forte tuned, at least four times in the year, by an
experienced tuner; if you neglect it too long without tuning, it
usually becomes flat, and troubles a tuner to get it to stay at concert
pitch, especially in the country. Never place the instrument against an
outside wall, or in a cold, damp room. Close the instrument immediately
after your practice; by leaving it open, dust fixes on the sound-board
and corrodes the movements, and, if in a damp room, the strings soon

Should the piano-forte stand near or opposite a window, guard, if
possible, against its being opened, especially on a wet or damp day;
and, when the sun is on the window, draw the blind down. Avoid putting
metallic or other articles on or in the piano-forte; such things
frequently cause unpleasant vibrations, and sometimes injure the
instrument. The more equal the temperature of the room, the better the
piano will stand in tune.

       *       *       *       *       *


Much has been said and written upon diet, eating and drinking, but I
do not recollect ever noticing a remark in any writer upon breathing,
or the manner of breathing. Multitudes, and especially ladies in easy
circumstances, contract a vicious and destructive mode of breathing.
They suppress their breathing and contract the habit of short, quick
breathing, not carrying the breath half way down the chest, and
scarcely expanding the lower portions of the chest at all. Lacing the
bottom of the chest also greatly increases this evil, and confirms a
bad habit of breathing. Children that move about a great deal in the
open air, and in no way laced, breathe deep and full in the bottom of
the chest, and every part of it. So also with most out-door laborers,
and persons who take a great deal of exercise in the open air, because
the lungs give us the power of action, and the more exercise we take,
especially out of doors, the larger the lungs become, and the less
liable to disease. In all occupations that require standing, keep
the person straight. If at table, let it be high, raised up nearly
to the armpits, so as not to require you to stoop; you will find the
employment much easier--not one half so fatiguing, whilst the form
of the chest and symmetry of the figure will remain perfect. You
have noticed that a vast many tall ladies stoop, whilst a great many
short ones are straight. This arises, I think, from the table at
which they sit or work, or occupy themselves, or study, being of a
medium height--for a short one. This should be carefully corrected and
regarded, so that each lady may occupy herself at the table to suit
her, and thus prevent the possibility or the necessity of stooping. It
will be as well not to remain too long in a sitting position, but to
rise occasionally, and thus relieve the body from its bending position.
The arms could be moved about from time to time.



One evening, at a large party, my attention was attracted by a tall,
distinguished-looking young gentleman, whom I had never seen before.
Though a stranger to me, he was evidently well known by most in the
room, for he was speaking familiarly to several who stood near him, and
bowing occasionally to others as they passed; yet all the time he was
thus occupied, his eyes constantly sought the quiet corner to which,
according to my usual habit, I had retreated. Strangers being rare
in Louden, and gentlemen of his appearance remarkable in any place,
I was at first disposed to gratify a natural curiosity with regard
to him, but my eyes, sent out on their exploring expedition, met his
so often, that at last, in a state of great confusion, I fastened
them on the floor and resolved I would not raise them again for ten
minutes. Meantime, I asked Virginia Percy, who was sitting by me, "Who
that strange gentleman by the piano was? He looks like an officer," I

"He is," she replied; "he is Lieutenant Marshall, a son of that Mr.
Marshall who lives on the next plantation to us."

"Don't you know him?" asked I, surprised that, while greeting all his
friends, he had not yet approached her.

"Oh, yes, of course," said she, quickly; "I have known him all my life."

Virginia, like most Southern girls, was a thorough-bred aristocrat, and
I ascribed her evident want of appreciation of Lieutenant Marshall,
and of interest in him, to the fact that his father's family, while
respectable, did not belong to the "upper ten"--to use the only phrase
that describes appropriately the class to which it refers--for they
are distinguished neither by goodness, wit, nor birth, but they have
become, by some concatenation of circumstances in this ever-shifting
kaleidoscope of society, the upper stratum, and the position, once
obtained, though it sometimes requires a severe struggle to gain it, is
easy enough to keep.

"He is the most strikingly handsome man I ever saw," said I.

Virginia made no answer. Piqued at her indifference, and resolved to
show my freedom from all narrow and illiberal prejudices with regard to
society or position, I went on:--

"He has what handsome men so often want. They have generally something
feminine about them; but he is essentially manly and dignified. I think
that his expression would be perhaps a little too stern; only, when he
speaks or even listens, his smile has so much warmth and kindness in

"You have seen a great deal in a little while," said Virginia.

"Yes, and under great difficulties too." Here I was interrupted by
the approach of the person of whom we were speaking, accompanied by
the lady of the house. He was introduced to me, and acknowledging
Virginia's presence by a low bow, he seated himself by me and commenced
a conversation. Much as I had admired him at a distance, this was an
attention with which I would willingly have dispensed, for, naturally
very shy, to attempt to entertain a stranger was distressing to me.
Therefore, though I wondered a little that Virginia still retained
her seat near me, so that she was obliged occasionally to join in the
conversation with one whom she seemed to consider beneath her, yet I
was pleased by her doing so, and attributed it to her friendship for
me, and her consideration for my peculiarities.

During all the evening, Lieutenant Marshall paid me marked attention,
so much so that, by the time we were ready to go home, I had become
the target for all the jokes and witticisms that are kept laid up
for such occasions. In a little place like Louden, where everybody
knew everybody, and there was but little going on to talk about,
any circumstance that would afford scope for harmless gossip and
teasing was "nuts" to the good people, and before noon the next day
it was generally understood, throughout Louden and its vicinity, that
"Lieutenant Marshall was desperately smitten with Miss Forsyth."

My own vanity being thus supported by the openly expressed opinions
of the discerning public, it is hardly to be wondered at if for a
while I shared their delusion and their belief. But, being even then a
little given to metaphysics and analytic investigations of all mental
phenomena that fell under my notice, instead of putting the pretty
rosebud that Mr. Marshall offered me next my heart, I set myself to
pulling it to pieces, and presently discovered that it was not a real
rose at all, only a patchwork, scentless imitation.

In other words, I had ideas of my own on the subject of love. As the
six-year-old New Yorker said, when he was asked if he had no one little
girl whom he loved better than any one else in the world, "show me the
boy of my age in New York that hasn't!" so I can say, show me the girl
of seventeen who does not think herself an adept in all the signs and
tokens of true love. And I soon settled it in my own mind, that, when
brought to the test of severe and impartial criticism, Mr. Marshall did
not exhibit one evidence of real love, beyond an apparent preference
for my society. That the preference was apparent and not real his
abstraction and indifference convinced me. At first, considering it a
duty I owed to society to talk to those with whom I was thrown, unless
they would kindly relieve me of this obligation, I tasked myself to
weariness to find some topic of mutual interest between my constant
attendant and myself. My remarks were all politely listened and replied
to, and then he fell back into his state of reverie and silence. If
there had not been a shade of melancholy about him, I should hardly
have felt so patiently towards him for engrossing so much of my time,
while his thoughts were evidently far away. But I had settled it in my
own mind that he had been in love, and that the lady of his love had
died--this accounted for his sadness and abstraction; and that some
resemblance between the lost lady and myself attracted him to me.

This little romance gave him quite an interest to me, which was
somewhat lessened by the discovery that he shared in the village love
of gossip. I found that the only subjects that could interest him at
all were the petty daily events that occurred to Virginia and myself,
for we were constantly together. About these he was never weary of
hearing, and would ask me the minutest questions, and by his pleased
attention beguile me into long talks about such mere trifles that
I used to blush to recall them, and then, as soon as I entered on
some topic of higher or more general interest, it needed but little
discernment to discover that courtesy alone prompted the attention he
gave me.

At last I began to grow quite weary of attentions which I could not
persuade myself were prompted by anything but recollections of the
dead, and spoke of Lieutenant Marshall to Virginia, my only confidant,
constantly, as "that tiresome man." Perhaps it was owing to her desire
to relieve me of one of my heaviest burdens that she so often made
one in our _tête-à-têtes_, and by infusing a great deal more spirit
and life in our conversation, assisted me greatly. I do not know how
it happened, but we both brightened wonderfully when Virginia joined
us, and although I might have been half asleep with intense dulness a
few moments before, I generally found myself very soon wide awake, and
with auditors so attentive and easily pleased that I began to be quite
uplifted with elevated ideas of my own newly developed conversational
powers. One evening, there was a little gathering of young people in
a house where the hostess did not approve of dancing. We were all
seated in a stiff circle round the room doing our best to amuse and
be amused by rational conversation. The appearance of things was very
unpromising, and the lady of the house seemed quite uneasy; at last
she proposed a promenade, and anything to break up the monotony was
eagerly caught at. The ladies and gentlemen, like prisoners marching
for exercise, were soon walking in at one door and out at another with
great precision and order. I expected Mr. Marshall to ask me to join
the staid procession, but perhaps marching seemed too much like work
to him, for he proposed instead a game of backgammon. This had always
appeared to me an uninteresting, rattling, flighty sort of a game; but
to amuse so sorrow-stricken a man I would even have played checkers.

Before we had finished the first game, I felt a hand lightly resting on
my shoulder, and looking round, saw Virginia seated close behind me.
This was very kind in her, and I felt it to the depths of my heart. She
was a great favorite in Louden, and to leave all who would have exerted
themselves to please and amuse her, to sit quietly with me in a dull
corner looking over a game of backgammon, was an effort of friendship
of which I hardly thought that, in similar circumstances, I should
have been capable. When the game was ended, I made a movement to close
the board, but Mr. Marshall asked me so earnestly for one more, just
one more, that I consented. However, I took an opportunity, while he
was stooping to pick up some of the men that had dropped, to whisper.
"You need not stay here, Virginia. You'll be dreadfully tired, and I
don't mind much being left alone; there's Charles Foster looking quite
distressed because you won't walk with him."

"No, dear," said Virginia, very affectionately, "there is not a person
in the room I like half so well to stay with as you."

A stranger, far away from home, these words of affection from one
whom I had loved from the first, touched me powerfully, and almost
involuntarily I pressed my lips to her cheek as it was bent towards me.
Fortunately this little _effusion_ passed unobserved, and Mr. Marshall
and I resumed our game. But I turned several times to look at Virginia,
attracted by a beauty in her that I had never noticed before. Her
features were regular and her countenance pleasing, but her complexion
was so colorless, and her expression so composed and unvarying, that
I had never heard her called even pretty; but that night she looked
positively beautiful. Her lips were crimson, her cheeks delicately
flushed, and there was a glow and light over her whole face, and a
glittering sparkle in her eye, as though some internal flame was
informing her whole being with warmth and brightness. I did not wonder
that Mr. Marshall was so struck by the change that his eyes rested
often and admiringly upon her, so that he hardly seemed to know what he
was doing.

"Virginia! Pauline! do come here," said a laughing girl, looking
in from the piazza to which the whole party but our little group
had retreated. I started up to obey the summons, for the sounds of
merriment and laughter, mingled with the notes of a favorite negro
melody, drew me with an irresistible attraction. Mr. Marshall and
Virginia did not move.

"Finish my game for me, will you?" said I to Virginia; "I will return
in a moment." But my moment lengthened into nearly half an hour, for
four gentlemen of the party who were noted for their musical skill had
been persuaded to send for their instruments and sing and play for
us. This they did so well that it was with reluctance that at last I
fulfilled my promise of returning.

Virginia was playing with the backgammon men as I entered, and
Lieutenant Marshall was talking to her in a low tone.

"There he is, just as tiresome as ever," thought I; but we do not live
in the palace of Youth now, so that I said, as I approached them--

"Well, which has been victorious?"

Virginia looked as though she had never heard of a game of backgammon,
and it was a minute or two before I was answered. At last Mr. Marshall

"I was--that is, I mean Miss Virginia was"--and he did not seem exactly
to know what he did mean.

"Do come out on the porch," said I, benevolently intending to relieve
Virginia from a great bore; "we are having some delightful singing, and
it is a very pleasant night." And I succeeded in inducing them both to
accompany me.

That same evening, Virginia proposed to me to fulfil a promise we
had made some time before of visiting her cousins Nannie and Bettie
Buckley. I was very willing to do so, having conceived a great
admiration for these ladies, which I am afraid had no better foundation
than that they were very tall, and dressed more showily and expensively
than any one that I had ever seen. Every summer they went to the
North, where they enjoyed the reputation of being great heiresses, and
consequently received much attention. Their father's wealth, though by
no means so large as was supposed, was still ample enough to allow them
to keep up their character as heiresses by a free expenditure at the
principal shops in New York and Philadelphia, and they returned home
with more magnificent brocades, flashy-looking cashmeres and bareges,
and fantastic ball-dresses than would have sufficed for ten years at
Louden. I do not think that my friends there appreciated them any the
more highly on account of these brilliant robes, but I was still in
that state of inexperience when "fine feathers make fine birds," and I
was very much inclined to respond cordially to their warmly proffered
offers of intimacy, and wondered that Virginia showed so little desire
to seek the society of such relations. I was so pleased to find that
she was at last willing to accompany me there, that I at once consented
to go the next afternoon, spend Saturday and Sunday with the Misses
Buckley, and return early on Monday morning.

We were to go on horseback, and when the time arrived, I found that
Virginia's brother and younger sister were to accompany us. We galloped
on in that glow of spirits and enjoyment that riding on horseback
so often imparts; when, as we passed Mr. Marshall's plantation, the
Lieutenant, as though he had been expecting and waiting for us, opened
the gate and joined us.

"That man is becoming a perfect _bête noir_ to me," said I to Ellen
Percy; "I can never go anywhere without him, lately."

I had hardly finished my speech, before it struck me that there was
something a little peculiar in the greeting between Virginia and
Lieutenant Marshall, and a half-formed, undefined suspicion rose in my
mind. I banished it immediately, however, for I looked upon Virginia as
the soul of truth, and if there had been anything between herself and
the man who had been so openly attentive to me, I felt sure she would
have told me. Therefore, much against my will, I allowed Ellen and
George to ride on, whilst I checked my horse, as fond of a race as its
rider, to the slow pace that seemed to suit my other two companions.
It was not long, however, before I intercepted one or two glances that
"spoke volumes"--ten folios could not have revealed more to me--and
all at once I was seized with the oppressive consciousness of being
_de trop_. My next thought was how I should contrive to join Ellen,
whose swift horse had carried her far in advance of us. I could think
of no excuse that did not seem to me so transparent as to be more than
useless. At last, murmuring some unintelligible words, I fairly ran
off. Afterwards apologizing to Virginia for my abrupt mode of leaving
her, saying that I had tried in vain to manage it more skilfully, she
replied with some surprise--

"My dear, I thought you managed it beautifully, and so I have no doubt
Lieutenant Marshall did."

"If he thought at all about it," answered I; and she smiled.

"Has it ever struck you--have you ever heard anything about Lieutenant
Marshall's being in love with Virginia?" I asked, when I had overtaken

"A long time ago I heard it talked about a little, but nothing has been
said about it for the last year or two. I have always thought, though,
that Virginia cared more about him than any one else."

"It is strange she never has alluded to him to me," said I; and I was
inexpressibly pained at this want of confidence on her part, revealed
at a time when I thought every feeling of her heart was laid bare to
me. Nor could I reconcile the clandestine way in which they had carried
on their love-affair, with the previous high opinion I had formed both
of Virginia and Mr. Marshall, as persons of the highest integrity and
principle. An indistinct feeling of annoyance at having been used
as a blind, and of disappointment at the tarnish which had suddenly
obscured, in my eyes, the bright purity of Virginia's character,
prevented me for a time from enjoying my ride. But deeper griefs than
mine would not long have been proof against the exhilaration produced
by rapid motion, through southern woods, on a cool and balmy afternoon
in early spring.

Nature has no secrets in that genial clime. She does not elaborate her
delicate buds and leaflets within the closely enveloping bark until
they burst suddenly upon you, full-formed and perfect, but her workshop
is the open air, and one might almost fancy he could see her dainty
fingers patiently adding, day by day, one touch after another, until
her work is complete. I have watched the slow development of an oak,
from the first red tassel to its full leaved glory, till I have felt
quite sure that if, by any of those marvellous metamorphoses we read of
in the old mythology, I should ever feel myself taking root and shape
like it, I should know exactly what would be expected of me. And so, my
eye caught and charmed by one beauty after another, of flower, or tree,
or cloud, I had regained all my cheerfulness by the time we halted at
the plantation, to allow the lovers to overtake us.

They had loitered so far behind, that we had to wait at least half an
hour before they joined us, but we were forbearing, and said nothing
to remind them of their want of consideration, though I am afraid my
silence was as much owing to wounded feeling as anything else.

We were most cordially welcomed by Nancie and Bettie Buckley, but I was
so surprised at the house and its furniture, that I hardly noticed our
reception. Was it possible, thought I, that those gorgeously apparelled
women came out of those low, poorly furnished rooms, with their stiff,
old-fashioned chairs, and no carpets, no sofas--no silver forks at
tea--in short, few of those little luxuries that long use makes almost
necessaries. Virginia explained the incongruity to me by saying that
cousin Tom, as she called old Mr. Buckley, refused to allow the least
change to be made in their household arrangements. His daughters might
travel and spend as much money as they pleased, but not one of their
new-fangled notions were allowed to be introduced into the family. To
make up for every other deficiency, there was a most bewildering number
of servants of all ages and sizes. They ran about the house like tame
kittens. Two accompanied me to my room at night, and three assisted, to
my great embarrassment, at my morning toilet.

Mr. Buckley was a stout, uneducated, kind-hearted sort of a man, with
a high appreciation of a mint-julep and a good cigar, and an intense
dislike of Yankees. This was so much a part of his nature that he
could not help expressing it even to me, and it was so genuine, that,
notwithstanding my natural pride in my birthright, I caught myself
insensibly sympathizing. Towards me personally, as a woman and a
stranger, he evidently felt nothing but a sort of tender pity and
concern. This he showed in the only way he could think of, by mixing me
a very strong mint-julep, and urging me to drink it. I tried to please
him--in fact, I had watched the process of making it, and thought I
should like it; but the very first attempt I made, gave me such a fit
of coughing, and came so near strangling me, that I gave up; after
that, we all sat down on the porch together until tea was ready, while
Mr. Buckley smoked his cigar and looked hopelessly at me.

After tea, we returned to the porch and our conversation, and Mr.
Buckley to his cigar. In the course of the evening, I missed Virginia
and my recreant knight, and they did not appear until we were about
separating for the night. Virginia and I were to occupy the same room;
and hardly were we alone before she turned to me, exclaiming, with a
vivacity and eagerness very unusual to her--

"Dear Pauline, how strange you must think my conduct has been lately,
after what you have seen to-day! But let me explain it to you. I would
have spoken openly to you weeks ago, if I had had anything to tell;
but I have been kept as much in the dark as any one until to-day.
When we were children, Philip--Mr. Marshall--and I were constantly
together, and became very much attached to each other; so that when he
went to West Point, though I was but about eleven years old, we were
regularly and solemnly engaged. He did not return to Louden until he
had graduated; for, you know, his father is poor, and they could not
afford him the money for the journey. Then he came, he says, with the
full intention of renewing our childish engagement, if he found me so
disposed; but he thought he ought first to speak to my father about it,
as I was still so young, and father objected so decidedly to anything
of that kind being said to me then, that Philip consented to wait a
little while. He came back in a year, and, as soon as father heard of
it, he sent me down to New Orleans on a visit to my aunt. I don't know
how I discovered the truth; but I did know very well the reason I was
sent off so hastily, and felt very badly about it. Then father and
Philip had another long talk, and Philip promised to wait until I was
eighteen before he made any other attempt to speak to me about what
father calls our ridiculous engagement."

"Oh," said I, "you were eighteen the day of Mrs. Simmons's party--last

"Yes; and Philip tried to have an explanation with me then; but he
could not, for there were so many people about. He was determined, he
said, this time not to see my father until he had spoken to me, and he
asked me when he could see me alone for a little while. I told him we
had been talking of visiting Nannie and Bettie for some time, and he
said he would accompany us, as they were cousins of his, too--Virginia
cousins, that is, not very near ones."

"What can be your father's objection to Mr. Marshall?" asked I.

"None at all to him; it is to his profession. He wants me settled
near him. He says I am not strong enough to bear the wandering life
and hardships I shall have to encounter as an officer's wife. I
hope, though, that he will give his consent, now that he sees by
our constancy how much we really do like each other. Just think,
dear, until to-day, I have hardly had five minutes' uninterrupted
conversation with Philip since I was eleven, and our engagement was
never alluded to; and yet I never thought of liking any one else, and I
was sure his feelings were unchanged; though, of course, until he told
me so, I could not speak of it even to my dearest friend."

Before Virginia had finished her little romance, my feelings of
annoyance were all lost in sympathy, and we passed the greater part
of the night discussing the manner in which Mr. Percy would receive
Mr. Marshall's third communication. Virginia seemed to have but little
doubt of her father's consent, and neither had I; for I had not yet
met a Southern father who had seemed able to refuse any child of his
whatever she had fixed her heart upon.

But in this case we were both disappointed. Mr. Percy, usually calm and
indulgent, seemed irritated and displeased to an uncommon degree when
Mr. Marshall urged his request. He reminded the young officer that he
was entirely dependent on his pay, which Mr. Percy said he considered
barely enough for one person; told him that, owing to an unfortunate
speculation in buying a plantation in Arkansas, which had turned out
badly, and to the failure of his cotton crop for the last two years,
he had become very much embarrassed, so that he should not be able
to assist his daughter, if she married, for some time. He ended by
repeating his former decision that, accustomed as Virginia had been to
the ease and indulgences of a settled home, he was sure she could never
endure the discomforts of a roving life. When she was twenty-one, she
might judge for herself; until that time, he wished never to hear the
subject mentioned again.

Mr. Marshall was very indignant, and tried to persuade Virginia to
renew her engagement with him without her father's knowledge; but to
this she would not consent, and he was soon afterwards obliged to
return to his post.

Virginia was almost heartbroken at this sudden rupture of a tie that
had been formed in her earliest childhood, and strengthened with every
subsequent year. I tried to persuade her that the three years which
were to intervene before she could make her own decision would pass
very quickly; but, hardly heeding my reasonings, she gave herself up
to hopeless despair. She was sure, she said, her father never would
consent to her union with Philip, and she would never marry without it.
Besides, she did not expect to live to be twenty-one. Long before that
time she should be in her grave.

At first, I paid no attention to these dismal forebodings, thinking
them only the natural expressions of an affectionate heart suffering
under such a great disappointment. But gradually I began to fear that
they should be realized. She would not eat, and grew pale and pined,
and her countenance began to wear an unearthly look of patient sorrow
and resignation that I never observed without a pang. I knew that her
parents had noticed the alteration in Virginia's health and spirits,
for hardly a week passed that some pleasant little excursion or journey
was not proposed to her. And thus the long warm summer wore away.

One afternoon, late in September, I received a note from her, saying
that she had just returned from a visit to the Mammoth Cave, and would
like to see me, to tell me about it. As I had not seen her for three
weeks, I hastened to Mr. Percy's immediately, and running up to her
room, entered without knocking at the half-open door.

Virginia was sitting in the full light of an afternoon sun, whose rays
were streaming in unobstructed by shutters or curtain, seemingly as if
the occupant of the room had lost all thought of bodily comfort. Her
eyes were fixed on a white cloud floating in the distant sky, and as
the wind lifted the heavy bands of hair from her pallid temples, she
looked so spiritualized and incorporeal, that I should hardly have been
surprised if she had floated out to mingle with the clouds on which she
was gazing.

"Why, Virginia, have you been sick?" I asked, after our first hurried

"No, dear; do I look badly?"

"Very," was my reply, sincere, if impolitic.

"I am rather glad to hear it," said Virginia, "though of course it will
be painful to me to leave my father and mother, brothers and sisters;
still, I have so little to look forward to in this world, that I cannot
care to live. I feel, myself, that I am growing weaker every day, and
that is one reason that I hurried home; I wanted to see you and leave
some messages with you for Philip."

And Virginia went on to impress upon me a variety of tender messages
I was to remember for Mr. Marshall. I tried to listen, but I hardly
heard what she said, for I was revolving in my mind a bold undertaking.
I knew that Mr. Percy loved his daughter devotedly, and that if once
aware of her danger he would consent to any means that seemed necessary
for her recovery. If I only dared to speak to him about it--but I stood
somewhat in awe of him, which feeling I shared with his children and
most of his younger acquaintances. He had a certain grand magnificent
way with him that I have never seen, excepting in Southern planters,
and but seldom in them. I imagine a Roman patrician may have awed the
populace, and impressed the rude Gauls by somewhat the same air and

However, the longer I listened to Virginia's plaintive words and looked
at her sorrowful face, the more I felt that my reverence for her father
was being gradually lost in anger at what I considered his cruel
regardlessness of her feelings. At last I left Virginia as abruptly
as I had entered. I had seen Mr. Percy as I passed, attending to the
grafting of some trees in the fruit orchard, and there I bent my steps.

He greeted me with a pleasant smile, and offered me a large Indian
peach he had just gathered from the tree. It almost seemed as if
he wished to propitiate me, for if I have a weakness it is for
peaches--and this particular kind, with its deep red juicy pulp, was an
especial favorite. But I took it almost unconsciously, and, looking at
him earnestly, I said--

"Mr. Percy, Virginia is very ill."

He looked anxiously upon me.

"She will die," I continued, shaking my head at him.

"Why, Pauline, do you really think so?" asked he; and I could see that
the alarm that had been half roused for some time was now thoroughly
awake, and producing its effect.

"Yes, I do not see how she can recover--unless--"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you send for Lieutenant Marshall immediately."

"Don't you think Dr. Parkinson might do as well?" asked he.

"No," I answered, shortly, looking upon that question as most unkind
trifling with mortal need.

Every one knows the effect that decided impulsive natures have on calm
meditative ones. An act Mr. Percy had been trying to make up his mind
to perform for some time, but had been putting off, in hopes that
secondary measures might avail, he now consented to at once.

"I believe I shall have to do it," he said; "you may tell Virginia so."

My work was but half done. Mr. Percy was a most inveterate dawdle, to
use Fanny Kemble's expressive word. If left to himself, the letter
might be written in a week, but more probably would be put off for a
month. If we lived in antediluvian times, this dilatory way of managing
matters might be of little consequence, but life is too short now to
afford the loss of even a few weeks' happiness.

"Could you not write to Mr. Marshall now? There is plenty of time to
send it to the post-office before dark."

Mr. Percy smiled, and yielded to my request so far as to turn his
steps towards the little building dignified with the name of his
office, though I do not know what business he had to transact there.
He loitered by the way in a manner that tired my patience to its
utmost, and once murmured something about having time to graft another
tree; but, heedless of his evident desire to escape, I walked on with
resolute purpose, and, as you may have seen some stately vessel, with
furled sail, submissively yielding herself up to be dragged into port
by an energetic little steamer, so did Mr. Perry resign himself to the
fate that had for once overtaken him--of doing the right thing at the
right time--and seated himself at his writing-desk.

"How am I to know that Mr. Marshall has not changed his mind?" asked
Mr. Percy, before beginning to write.

"Virginia showed me a letter just now that she received from him a few
hours ago, in which he said that, although she would not consent to any
engagement without your approval, he still and always should, as long
as she remained single, consider himself bound by his boyish promise."

"Desperately romantic!" said Mr. Percy, and then the movement of his
pen told me that he had commenced the epistle that was to put an end to
so much sorrow.

Unable to remain quiet, I leaned out of the window, and beckoned to a
servant I saw loitering at a little distance.

"Jack," said I, as he came near, "your master is writing a letter, wait
here until it is finished, for he will want you to take it directly to
the post-office."

The order to wait was one too congenial to his nature not to be readily
obeyed, and discovering at a glance the capabilities for enjoyment and
repose afforded by an inviting bed of hot sand in which the afternoon
sun was expending its last fierce blaze, Jack threw himself down in it,
and I had soon the satisfaction of seeing that he was sound asleep, and
therefore in no danger of being out of the way when he was wanted.

"Would you like to read the letter, Miss Pauline?" asked Mr. Percy,
when he had finished it.

I was very glad to avail myself of this permission. I found that it
contained a cordial, though dignified invitation to Mr. Marshall
to return to Louden, with a full consent to the engagement between
Virginia and himself.

Giving the letter to Jack with directions to put it in the post-office
without delay, I hurried to Virginia with the joyful tidings. I
expected a burst of tears and an infinitude of thanks. Instead of
either, when I had finished my story, she said, in a slightly aggrieved

"I am sorry, Pauline, you told father I should certainly die unless he
sent for Philip. It will make him think me so weak."

"Why, Virginia," I exclaimed, taken quite by surprise, "what should I
have said?"

"You might have said that I was not very well, or something of that

"And then he would have sent for Dr. Parkinson, and the only result
would have been a few doses of calomel or quinine. No, dear, I never
once thought of your not being well. I felt sure you would die, and I
said so. I am sorry it troubles you, but I think it was the best thing
I could do."

Virginia blushed the next time she saw her father, as if he had been
her lover instead; but, as he said nothing to her on the subject,
she gradually recovered from her embarrassment, and by the time Mr.
Marshall joined her she had so far recovered her health as to be able
to enjoy without a drawback what some people consider the happiest part
of one's life.

Mr. Percy did not relinquish his desire to have his daughter settled
near him, and one or two successful years enabled him to effect his
wishes. Lieutenant Marshall was induced to resign from the army, and
with his wife and six children he is now living and prospering on a
plantation; and in the substantial person of Mrs. Marshall, anxious and
troubled about many things in her household and maternal concerns, I
find it hard to discover the least trace of the shadowy and ethereal
girl who had seemed to me at one time much more a part of the spirit
world than of this material sphere.



[Illustration: Fig. 11.]

We now proceed to the drawing of curved lines, as in Fig. 11. And as
these are the basis of innumerable forms, the pupil must not rest
satisfied with a few attempts at forming them; she must try and try
again, until she is able, with a single sweep, to draw them correctly.
They must be done in one stroke, no piecing being allowed. Let the
curved line _a_ be first produced; beginning at the top, bring the arm
or wrist down, so that at one operation the form may be traced; do this
repeatedly, until the correct outline is attained at every trial. The
pupil may next proceed to the curved line _b_, which is merely the line
_a_ in another position; then, after repeated trials, the lines _c_,
_d_, _e_, _g_, and _h_ may be drawn. These curves should be attempted
to be drawn in all manner of positions, beginning at the top, then at
the bottom, and making the curve upwards, and so on, until the utmost
facility is attained in drawing them, howsoever placed. The curved
line, generally known as the "line of beauty," _f a b´_, must next be
mastered; it is of the utmost importance to be able to do this easily
and correctly. In all these and the future elementary lessons, the
pupil must remember that when failing to draw a form correctly, she
should at once rub it out or destroy it, and commence a new attempt.

Having, then, acquired a ready facility in drawing the simple
elementary curved lines, the pupil may next proceed to the combination
of these, as exemplified in simple figures, as circles and ellipses, or
ovals. First attempt to draw the circle _a´ b_, Fig. 12; beginning at
_a´_, sweep round by the right down to _b_, then from _b_ towards the
left and up to _a´_, where the circle was first begun. The pupil may
also try to draw it by going the reverse way to the above. We are quite
aware that it will be found rather a difficult matter to draw a circle
correctly at the first, or rather even after repeated attempts; but the
pupil must not be discouraged; by dint of practice she will be able to
draw circles of any size very correctly. We have seen circles drawn by
hand so that the strictest test applied could scarcely point out an
error in their outline, so correctly were they put in. Circles within
circles may be drawn, as at _c´_; care should be taken to have the
lines at the same distance from each other all round. The ellipse _a b_
must next be attempted; this is a form eminently useful in delineating
a multiplicity of forms met with in practice. Ovals within ovals may
also be drawn, as at _c d_.

[Illustration: Fig. 12.]

At this stage, the pupil ought to be able to draw combinations of
straight and curved lines, as met with in many forms which may be
presented to her in after-practice. The examples we intend now to place
before her are all in pure outline, having no reference to picturesque
arrangement, but designed to aid the pupil in drawing outlines with
facility; and to prove to her, by a progression of ideas, that the
most complicated forms are but made up of lines of extreme simplicity;
that although in the aggregate they may look complicated, in reality,
when carefully analyzed, they are amazingly simple. Again, although
the pupil may object to them as being simple and formal--in fact, not
picturesque or decorative enough to please her hasty fancy--she ought
to recollect that, before being able to delineate objects shown to her
eye perspectively, she must have a thorough knowledge of the method of
drawing the outlines of which the objects are composed, and a facility
in making the hand follow aptly and readily the dictation of the eye.
These can be alone attained by a steady application to elementary

[Illustration: Fig. 13.]

Fig. 13 is the moulding, or form known in architecture as the
"echinus," or quarter-round. First draw the line _a c_, then _b b_ at
the proper distance; next mark with the eye the point _b_ on the line
_b b_, to which the curve from _a_ joins; then put in the curve _a b_
with one sweep. The curved portion of the moulding in Fig. 14, known
as the "ogee," must be put in at one stroke of the pencil or chalk,
previously drawing the top and bottom lines.

[Illustration: Fig. 14.]

Fig. 15 is the "scotia;" it is formed geometrically by two portions of
a circle, but the pupil should draw the curve at once with the hand.
It is rather a difficult one to draw correctly, but practice will soon
overcome the difficulty.

[Illustration: Fig. 15.]

Fig. 16 is termed the "cyma recta;" it affords an exemplification of
the line of beauty given in Fig. 11.

[Illustration: Fig. 16.]

Should the pupil ever extend the practice of the art beyond the simple
lessons we have given her, she will find, in delineating the outlines
of numerous subjects presented her, the vast utility of the "practice"
which we have placed before her in the foregoing examples. In sketching
ancient or modern architectural edifices, she will find the forms we
have presented of frequent recurrence.

We shall now proceed to give examples of the combinations of the forms
or outlines we have just noticed.

Fig. 17 is half of the base of an architectural order frequently met
with, called the "Doric."

[Illustration: Fig. 17.]

[Illustration: Fig. 18.]

[Illustration: Fig. 19.]

Fig. 18 affords an exemplification of the outline of part of a
"cornice" belonging to the Tuscan order. Let us slightly analyze the
supposed proceedings of the pupil in delineating this. Suppose Fig.
19 to be the rough sketch as first attempted. On examining the copy as
given in Fig. 18, the pupil will at once perceive that the proportions
are very incorrect; thus, the distance between the two upper lines, as
at _d_, is too little, the fillet being too narrow; again, the point
_c_, which regulates the extent of the curve from _a_, is too far from
_a_, while the line _c c´_ is too near the line _d_; the space between
_c c´_ and the line below it is too wide, and the line _f_ is not
perpendicular, but slopes outwards towards _f_; the distance between
the line _f g_ and the one immediately above it is also too narrow by
at least one-third. Again, the point _h_, where the portion of the
circle begins, is too near the point _f_; the line _i_ is also too
near that of _f g_; the outline of the curve is not correct, it being
too much bulged out near the point _k_; the line _n_ is not straight,
and that marked _m_ is too far from the extreme end of the line.
The pupil has here indicated a method of analyzing her proceedings,
comparing them with the correct copy, which she would do well, in her
earlier practice, to use pretty frequently, until she is perfectly at
home in correct delineation of outlines. It may be objected that this
analysis is hypercriticism utterly uncalled for, from the simplicity
of the practice; but let it be noted that if the pupil is not able, or
unwilling to take the necessary trouble to enable her to draw simple
outlines correctly, how can she be prevented, when she proceeds to more
complicated examples, from drawing difficult outlines incorrectly? We
hold that if a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well;
and how can a pupil do a thing correctly, unless from correct models
or rules? and how can she ascertain whether she is following them,
unless by careful comparison and examination? How often are the works
of painters and artists found fault with, from the incorrectness of
outline, and the inconsistency of measurement observable, which might
be obviated by a more careful attention to the minute details, but are
too frequently spurned at by aspiring artists; but of which, after all,
the most complicated picture is but a combination? Thus the outline
in Fig. 19 presents all the lines and curves found in Fig. 18, but
the whole forms a delineation by no means correct; and if a pupil is
allowed to run from simple lessons without being able to master them,
then the foundation of the art is sapped, and the superstructure
certainly endangered. Correct outlining must be attained before the
higher examples of art can be mastered.

[Illustration: Fig. 20.]

Fig. 20 is an outline sketch of the ornament called a quatre-foil,
frequently met with in architectural and artistic decoration. It will
be a somewhat difficult example to execute at first, but it affords
good and useful practice.

Fig. 21 is part of the arch and mullion of a window.

Fig. 22 is an outline sketch of a Gothic recess in a wall.

[Illustration: Fig. 21.]

[Illustration: Fig. 22.]

The reader will perceive that in all the foregoing designs, although
consisting of pure outline, there exists a large amount of practice,
which, if she has carefully mastered, will be of eminent service to her
in the higher branches of the art.

       *       *       *       *       *


In the Celestial Empire, love matters are managed by a confidant, and
the _billets-doux_ written to one another by the papas. At Amoy, a
marriage was recently concluded between the respectable houses of Tan
and O; on which occasion the following epistles passed between the two
old gentlemen:--

    From Papa Tan: "The ashamed young brother, surnamed Tan, with
    washed head makes obeisance, and writes this letter to the greatly
    virtuous and honorable gentleman whose surname is O. I duly
    reverence your lofty door. The marriage business will be conducted
    according to the six rules of propriety, and I will reverently
    announce the business to my ancestors with presents of gems and
    silks. I will arrange the things received in your basket, so that
    all who tread the threshold of my door may enjoy them. From this
    time forward the two surnames will be united, and I trust the
    union will be a felicitous one, and last for a hundred years, and
    realize the delight experienced by the union. I hope that your
    honorable benevolence and consideration will defend me unceasingly.
    At present the dragon flies in Sin Hai term, the first month, lucky
    day. I bow respectfully. Light before.


From Papa O: "The younger brother, surnamed O, of the family to be
related by marriage, washes his head clean, knocks his head and bows,
and writes this marriage-letter in reply to the far-famed and virtuous
gentleman surnamed Tan, the venerable teacher and great man who manages
his business. 'Tis matter for congratulation the union of 100 years. I
reverence your lofty gate. The prognostic is good, also the divination
of the lucky bird. The stars are bright, and the dragons meet together.
I, the foolish one, am ashamed of my diminutiveness. I for a long time
have desired your dragon powers: now you have not looked down upon me
with contempt, but have entertained the statements of the match-maker,
and agree to give Kang to be united to my despicable daughter. We all
wish the girl to have her hair dressed, and the young man to put on his
cap of manhood. The peach-flowers just now look beautiful, the red plum
also looks gay. I praise your son, who is like a fairy horse who can
cross over through water, and is able to ride upon the wind and waves;
but my tiny daughter is like a green window and a feeble plant, and is
not worthy of becoming the subject of verse.

"Now, I reverently bow to your good words, and make use of them to
display your good breeding. Now, I hope your honorable benevolence will
always remember me without end. Now the dragon flies in the Sin Hai
term, first month, lucky day. Obeisance! May the future be prosperous.





Needle-work, at best, yields but a small return. Yet how many thousands
have no other resource in life, no other barrier thrown up between them
and starvation! The manly stay upon which a woman has leaned suddenly
fails, and she finds self-support an imperative necessity; yet she has
no skill, no strength, no developed resources. In all probability, she
is a mother. In this case, she must not only stand alone, but sustain
her helpless children. Since her earliest recollection, others have
ministered to her wants and pleasures. From a father's hand, childhood
and youth received their countless natural blessings; and brother or
husband, in later years, has stood between her and the rough winds of a
stormy world. All at once, like a bird reared from a fledgling in its
cage, and then turned loose in dreary winter time, she finds herself
in the world unskilled in its ways, yet required to earn her bread or

What can she do? In what art or profession has she been educated? The
world demands service, and proffers its money for labor. But what
has she learned? What work can she perform? She can sew. And is that
all? Every woman we meet can ply the needle. Ah! As a seamstress, how
poor the promise for her future! The labor market is crowded with
sewing women, and, as a consequence, the price of needle-work--more
particularly that called plain needle-work--is depressed to mere
starvation rates. In the more skilled branches, better returns are met;
but, even here, few can endure prolonged application--few can bend
ten, twelve, or fifteen hours daily over their tasks, without fearful
inroads upon health.

In the present time, a strong interest has been awakened on this
subject. The cry of the poor seamstress has been heard; and the
questions, "How shall we help her?" "How shall we widen the circle
of remunerative employments for women?" passes anxiously from lip
to lip. To answer this question is not our present purpose. Others
are earnestly seeking to work out the problem, and we must leave the
solution with them. What we now design is to quicken their generous
impulses. How more effectively can this be done than by a life-picture
of the poor needlewoman's trials and sufferings? And this we shall now
proceed to give.

It was a cold, dark, drizzly day in the fall of 18--, that a young
female entered a well-arranged clothing store in Boston, and passed
with hesitating steps up to where a man was standing behind one of the

"Have you any work, sir?" she asked, in a low, timid voice.

The individual to whom this was addressed, a short, rough-looking man,
with a pair of large black whiskers, eyed her for a moment with a
bold stare, and then indicated, by half turning his head and nodding
sideways towards the owner of the shop, who stood at a desk some
distance back, that her application was to be made there. Turning
quickly from the rude, and too familiar gaze of the attendant, the
young woman went on to the desk, and stood, half frightened and
trembling, beside the man from whom she had come to ask the privilege
of toiling for little more than a crust of bread and a cup of cold

"Have you any work, sir?" was repeated in a still lower and more timid
voice than that in which her request had at first been made.

"Yes, we have," was the gruff reply.

"Can I get some?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure that you'll ever bring it back again."

The applicant endeavored to make some reply to this, but the words
choked her; she could not utter them.

"I've been tricked in my time out of more than a little by new-comers.
But I don't know; you seem to have a simple, honest look. Are you
particularly in want of work?"

"Oh yes, sir!" replied the applicant, in an earnest, half-imploring
voice. "I desire work very much."

"What kind do you want?"

"Almost anything you have to give out, sir?"

"Well, we have pants, coarse and fine roundabouts, shirts, drawers, and
almost any article of men's wear you can mention."

"What do you give for shirts, sir?"

"Various prices; from six cents up to twenty five, according to the
quality of the article."

"Only twenty-five cents for fine shirts!" returned the young woman, in
a surprised, disappointed, desponding tone.

"_Only_ twenty-five cents? _Only?_ Yes, _only_ twenty-five cents! Pray,
how much did you expect to get, Miss?" retorted the clothier, in a half
sneering, half offended voice.

"I don't know. But twenty-five cents is very little for a hard day's

"Is it, indeed? I know enough who are thankful for even that. Enough
who are at it early and late, and do not even earn as much. Your ideas
will have to come down a little, Miss, if you expect to work for this
branch of business."

"What do you give for vests and pantaloons?" asked the woman, without
seeming to notice the man's rudeness.

"For common trowsers with pockets, twelve cents; and for finer ones,
fifteen and twenty cents. Vests about the same rates."

"Have you any shirts ready?"

"Yes, a plenty. Will you have 'em coarse or fine?"

"Fine, if you please."

"How many will you take?"

"Let me have three to begin with."

"Here, Michael," cried the man to the attendant who had been first
addressed by the stranger, "give this girl three fine shirts to make."
Then turning to her, he said, "They are cotton shirts, with linen
collars, bosoms, and wristbands. There must be two rows of stitching
down the bosoms, and one row upon the wristband. Collars plain. And
remember, they must be made very nice."

"Yes, sir," was the reply, made in a sad voice, as the young creature
turned from her employer and went up to the shop-attendant to receive
the three shirts.

"You've never worked for the clothing stores, I should think?" remarked
this individual, looking her in the face with a steady gaze.

"Never," replied the applicant, in a low tone, half shrinking away,
with an instinctive aversion for the man.

"Well, it's pretty good when one can't do any better. An industrious
sewer can get along pretty well upon a pinch."

No reply was made to this. The shirts were now ready; but, before they
were handed to her, the man bent over the counter, and, putting his
face close to hers, said--

"What might your name be, Miss?"

A quick flush suffused the neck and face of the girl, as she stepped
back a pace or two, and answered--

"That is of no consequence, sir."

"Yes, Miss, but it is of consequence. We never give out work to people
who don't tell their names. We would be a set of unconscionable fools
to do that, I should think."

The young woman stood thoughtful for a little while, and then said,
while her cheek still burned--

"Lizzy Glenn."

"Very well. And now, Miss Lizzy, be kind enough to inform me where you

"That is altogether unnecessary. I will bring the work home as soon as
I have finished it."

"But suppose you should happen to forget our street and number? What

"Oh no, I shall not do that. I know the place very well," was the
innocent reply.

"No, but that won't do, Lizzy. We must have the name and place of
residence of every man, woman, and child who work for us. It is our
rule, and we never depart from it."

There was another brief period of irresolution, and then the place of
abode was given. This was first entered, with her name, in a book, and
then the three shirts were handed over. The seamstress turned away on
receiving them, and walked quickly from the shop.

The appearance of this young applicant for work would have appealed
instantly to the sympathies of any one but a regular slop-shop man, who
looked only to his own profits, and cared not a fig whose heart-drops
cemented the stones of his building. She was tall and slender, with
light brown hair, clear soft complexion, and eyes of a mild hazel.
But her cheeks were sunken, though slightly flushed, and her eyes lay
far back in their sockets. Her forehead was high and very white. The
tones of her voice, which was low, were soft and musical, and her words
were spoken, few though they were, with a taste and appropriateness
that showed her to be one who had moved in a circle of refinement and
intelligence. As to her garments, they were old, and far too thin for
the season. A light, faded shawl, of costly material, was drawn closely
around her shoulders, but had not the power to keep from her attenuated
frame the chill air, or to turn off the fine penetrating rain that came
with the wind, searchingly, from the bleak north-east. Her dress, of
summer calico, much worn, clung closely to her body. Above all was a
close bonnet, and a thick veil, which she drew around her face as she
stepped into the street and glided hurriedly away.

"She's a touch above the vulgar, Michael," broke in Berlaps, the owner
of the shop, coming forward as he spoke.

"Yes, indeed! That craft has been taut rigged in her time."

"Who can she be, Michael? None of your common ones, of course."

"Oh no, of course not; she's 'seen better days,' as the slang phrase

"No doubt of that. What name did she give?"

"Lizzy Glenn. But that may or may not be correct. People like her are
sometimes apt to forget even their own names."

"Where does she live?"

"In the lower part of the town somewhere. I have it in the book here."

"You think she'll bring them shirts back?"

"Oh yes. Folks that have come down in the world as she has rarely play
grab game after that fashion."

"She seemed all struck aback at the price."

"I suppose so. Ha! ha!"

"But she's the right kind," resumed Berlaps. "I only wish we had a
dozen like her."

"I wish we had. Her work will never rip."

Further conversation was prevented by the entrance of a customer.
Before he had been fully served, a middle-aged woman came in with a
large bundle, and went back to Berlaps's desk, where he stood engaged
over his account-books.

"Good-day, Mrs. Gaston," said he, looking up, while not a feature
relaxed on his cold, rigid countenance.

"I've brought you in six pairs of pants," said the woman, untying the
bundle she had laid upon the counter.

"You had seven pair, ma'am."

"I know that, Mr. Berlaps. But only six are finished; and, as I want
some money, I have brought them in."

"It is more than a week since we gave them out. You ought to have had
the whole seven pair done. We want them all now. They should have been
in day before yesterday."

"They would have been finished, Mr. Berlaps," said the woman, in a
deprecating tone; "but one of my children has been sick, and I have had
to be up with her so often every night, and have had to attend to her
so much through the day, that I have not been able to do more than half

"Confound the children!" muttered the tailor to himself, as he began
inspecting the woman's work. "They're always getting sick, or something

After carefully examining three or four pairs of the coarse trowsers
which had been brought in, he pushed the whole from him with a quick
impatient gesture and an angry scowl, saying, as he did so--

"Botched to death! I can't give you work unless it's done better, Mrs.
Gaston. You grow worse and worse!"

"I know, sir," replied the woman, in a troubled voice, "that they are
not made quite so well as they might be. But consider how much I have
had against me. A sick child--and worn out by attendance on her night
and day."

"It's always a sick child, or some other excuse with the whole of you.
But that don't answer me. I want my work done well, and I mean to have
it so. If you don't choose to turn out good work, I can find a plenty
who will."

"You sha'n't complain of me hereafter, Mr. Berlaps," replied the woman,

"So you have said before. But we shall see."

Berlaps then turned moodily to his desk, and resumed the employment
he had broken off when the seamstress came in, while she stood with
her hands folded across each other, awaiting his pleasure in regard to
the payment of the meagre sum she had earned by a full week of hard
labor, prolonged often to a late hour in the night. She had stood thus,
meekly, for nearly five minutes, when Berlaps raised his head, and
looking at her sternly over the top of his desk, said--

"What are you waiting for, Mrs. Gaston?"

"I should like to have the money for the pants I have brought in. I am
out of every"--

"I never pay until the whole job is done. Bring in the other pair, and
you can have your money."

"Yes; but Mr. Berlaps"----

"You needn't talk anything about it, madam. You have my say," was the
tailor's angry response.

Slowly turning away, the woman moved, with hesitating steps, to the
door, paused there a moment, and then went out. She lingered along,
evidently undecided how to act, for several minutes, and then moved on
at a quicker pace, as if doubt and irresolution had given way to some
encouraging thought. Threading her way along the narrow winding streets
in the lower part of the city, she soon emerged into the open space
used as a hay-market, and, crossing over this, took her way in the
direction of one of the bridges. Before reaching this, she turned down
towards the right and entered a small grocery. A woman was the only
attendant upon this.

"Won't you trust me for a little more, Mrs. Grubb?" she asked, in a
supplicating voice, while she looked anxiously into her face.

"No, ma'am! not one cent till that dollar's paid up!" was the sharp
retort. "And, to tell you the truth, I think you've got a heap of
impudence to come in here, bold-faced, and ask for more trust, after
having promised me over and over again for a month to pay that dollar.
No! pay the dollar first!"

"I did intend to pay you a part of it this very day," replied Mrs.
Gaston. "But"----

"Oh yes. It's but this, and but that. But, buts ain't my dollar. I'm
an honest woman, and want to make an honest living; and must have my

"But I only want a little, Mrs. Grubb. A few potatoes and some salt
fish; and just a gill of milk and a cup of flour. The children have
had nothing to eat since yesterday. I took home six pairs of trowsers
to-day, which came to ninety cents, at fifteen cents a pair. But I
had seven pairs, and Mr. Berlaps won't pay me until I bring the whole
number. It will take me till twelve o'clock to-night to finish them,
and so I can't get any money before to-morrow. Just let me have two
pounds of salt fish, which will be only seven cents, and three cents'
worth of potatoes; and a little milk and flour to make something for
Ella. It won't be much, Mrs. Grubb, and it will keep the little ones
from being hungry all day and till late to-morrow."

Her voice failed her as she uttered the last sentence. But she
restrained herself after the first sob that heaved her overladen bosom,
and stood calmly awaiting the answer to her urgent petition.

Mrs. Grubb was a woman, and a mother into the bargain. She had,
too, the remains of a woman's heart, where lingered a few maternal
sympathies. These were quick to prompt her to duty. Turning away
without a reply, she weighed out two pounds of fish, measured a peck of
potatoes, poured out some milk in a cup, and filled a small paper with
flour. These she handed to Mrs. Gaston without uttering a word.

"To-morrow you shall be paid for these, and something on the old
account," said the recipient, as she took them and hurried from the

"Why not give up at once, instead of trying to keep soul and body
together by working for the slop-shops?" muttered Mrs. Grubb, as her
customer withdrew. "She'd a great sight better go with her children
to the poor-house than keep them half starving under people's noses
at this rate, and compelling us, who have a little feeling left, to
keep them from dying outright with hunger! It's too bad! There's
that Berlaps, who grinds the poor seamstresses, who work for him to
death, and makes them one-half of their time beggars at our stores for
something for their children to eat. He is building two houses in
Roxbury at this very moment; and out of what? Out of the money of which
he has robbed these poor women. Fifteen cents for a pair of trowsers
with pockets in them! Ten cents for shirts and drawers; and everything
at that rate! Is it any wonder they are starving, and he growing rich?
Curse him, and all like him! I could see them hung!"

And the woman set her teeth and clenched her hand in momentary, but
impotent rage.

In the mean time, Mrs. Gaston hurried home with the food she had
obtained. She occupied the upper room of a narrow frame house near
the river, for which she paid a rent of three dollars a month. It was
small and comfortless; but the best her slender means could provide.
Two children were playing on the floor when she entered, the one about
four, and the other a boy who looked as if he might be nearly ten years
of age. On the bed lay Ella, the sick child to whom the mother had
alluded both to the tailor and the shop-keeper. She turned wishfully
upon her mother her young bright eyes as she entered, but did not move
or utter a word. The children, who had been amusing themselves upon
the floor, sprang to their feet, and, catching hold of the basket she
brought in with her, ascertained in a moment its contents.

"Fish and taters! fish and taters!" cried the youngest, a little girl,
clapping her hands and dancing about the floor.

"Won't we have some dinner now?" said Henry, the oldest boy, looking up
into his mother's face with eager delight, as he laid his hands upon
her arm.

"Yes, my children, you shall have a good dinner, and that right
quickly," returned the mother, in a voice half choked with emotion, as
she threw off her bonnet and proceeded to cook the coarse provisions
she had obtained at the sacrifice of so much feeling. It did not take
long to boil the fish and potatoes, which were eaten with a keen relish
by two of the children, Emma and Harry. The gruel prepared for Ella,
from the flour obtained at Mrs. Grubb's, did not much tempt the sickly
appetite of the child. She sipped a few spoonfuls, and then turned from
the bowl which her mother held for her at the bedside.

"Eat more of it, dear," said Mrs. Gaston. "It will make you feel

"I'm not very hungry now, mother," answered Ella.

"Don't it taste good to you?"

"Not very good."

The child sighed as she turned her wan face towards the wall, and the
unhappy mother sighed responsive.

"I wish you would try to take a little more. It's so long since
you have eaten anything; and you'll grow worse if you don't take
nourishment. Just two or three spoonfuls. Come, dear."

Ella, thus urged, raised herself in bed, and made an effort to eat
more of the gruel. At the third spoonful, her stomach heaved as the
tasteless fluid touched her lips.

"Indeed, mother, I can't swallow another mouthful," she said, again
sinking back on her pillow.

Slowly did Mrs. Gaston turn from the bed. She had not yet eaten of the
food which her two well children were devouring with the eagerness of
hungry animals. Only a small portion did she now take for herself, and
that was eaten hurriedly, as if the time occupied in attending to her
own wants were so much wasted.

The meal over, Mrs. Gaston took the unfinished pair of trowsers, and,
though feeling weary and disheartened, bent earnestly to the task
before her. At this she toiled, unremittingly, until the falling
twilight admonished her to stop. The children's supper was then
prepared. She would have applied to Mrs. Grubb for a loaf of bread, but
was so certain of meeting a refusal that she refrained from doing so.
For supper, therefore, they had only the salt fish and potatoes.

It was one o'clock that night before exhausted nature refused another
draft upon its energies. The garment was not quite finished. But the
nerveless hand and the weary head of the poor seamstress obeyed the
requirements of her will no longer. The needle had to be laid aside,
for the finger had no more strength to grasp, nor skill to direct its


It was about ten o'clock on the next morning, when Mrs. Gaston appeared
at the shop of Berlaps, the tailor.

"Here is the other pair," she said, as she came up to the counter,
behind which stood Michael, the salesman.

That person took the pair of trowsers, glanced at them a moment, and
then, tossing them aside, asked Mrs. Gaston if she could make some
cloth roundabouts.

"At what price?" was inquired.

"The usual price--thirty cents."

"Thirty cents for cloth jackets! Indeed, Michael, that is too little.
You used to give thirty-seven and a half."

"Can't afford to do it now, then. Thirty cents is enough. There are
plenty of women glad to get them even at that price."

"But it will take me a full day and a half to make a cloth jacket,

"You work slow, that's the reason; a good sewer can easily make one in
a day; and that's doing pretty well, these times."

"I don't know what you mean by pretty well, Michael," answered the
seamstress. "How do you think you could manage to support yourself and
three children on less than thirty cents a day?"

"Haven't you put that oldest boy of yours out yet?" asked Michael,
instead of replying to the question of Mrs. Gaston.

"No, I have not."

"Well, you do very wrong, let me tell you, to slave yourself and pinch
your other children for him, when he might be earning his living just
as well as not. He's plenty old enough to be put out."

"You may think so, but I don't. He is still but a child."

"A pretty big child, I should say. But, if you would like to get him a
good master, I know a man over in Cambridge who would take him off of
your hands."

"Who is he?"

"He keeps a store, and wants just such a boy to do odd trifles about,
and run of errands. It would be the very dandy for your little fellow.
He'll be in here to-day, and, if you say so, I will speak to him about
your son."

"I would rather try and keep him with me this winter. He is too young
to go so far away. I could not know whether he were well or ill used."

"Oh, as to that, ma'am, the man I spoke of is a particular friend of
mine, and I know him to be as kind-hearted as a woman. His wife's
amiability and good temper are proverbial. Do let me speak a good word
for your son; I'm sure you will never repent it."

"I'll think about it, Michael; but don't believe I shall feel satisfied
to let Henry go anywhere out of Boston, even if I should be forced to
get him a place away from home this winter."

"Well, you can do as you please, Mrs. Gaston," said Michael, in a half
offended tone. "I shall not charge anything for my advice. But say! do
you intend trying some of these jackets?"

"Can't you give me some more pantaloons? I can do better on them, I

"We sha'n't have any more coarse trowsers ready for two or three days.
The jackets are your only chance."

"If I must, I suppose I must, then," replied Mrs. Gaston to this, in a
desponding tone. "So let me have a couple of them."

The salesman took from a shelf two dark, heavy cloth jackets, cut out
and tied up in separate bundles with a strip of the fabric from which
they had been taken. As he handed them to the woman, he said--

"Remember, now, these are to be made extra nice."

"You shall have no cause of complaint--depend upon that, Michael. But
isn't Mr. Berlaps in this morning?"

"No. He's gone out to Roxbury to see about some houses he is putting up

"You can pay me for them pantys, I suppose?"

"No. I never settle any bills in his absence."

"But it's a very small matter, Michael. Only a dollar and five cents,"
said Mrs. Gaston, earnestly, her heart sinking in her bosom.

"Can't help it. It's just as I tell you."

"When will Mr. Berlaps be home?"

"Some time this afternoon, I suppose."

"Not till this afternoon," murmured the mother, sadly, as she thought
of her children, and how meagerly she had been able to provide for them
during the past few days. Turning away from the counter, she left the
store and hurried homeward. Henry met her at the door as she entered,
and, seeing that she brought nothing with her but the small bundles of
work, looked disappointed. This touched her feeling a good deal. But
she felt much worse when Ella, the sick one, half raised herself from
her pillow and said--

"Did you get me that orange as you promised, mother?"

"No, dear; I couldn't get any money this morning," the mother replied,
bending over her sick child and kissing her cheek, that was flushed and
hot with fever. "But as soon as Mr. Berlaps pays me you shall have an

"I wish he would pay you soon, then, mother; for I want one so bad.
I dreamed last night that I had one, and, just as I was going to eat
it, I waked up. And, since you have been gone, I've been asleep, and
dreamed again that I had a large juicy orange. But don't cry, mother.
I know you couldn't get it for me. I'll be very patient."

"I know you will, my dear child," said the mother, putting an arm about
the little sufferer, and drawing her to her bosom; "you have been good
and patient, and mother is only sorry that she has not been able to get
you the orange you want so badly."

"But I don't believe I want it so very, very bad, mother, as I seem to.
I think about it so much--that's the reason I want it, I'm sure. I'll
try and not think about it any more."

"Try, that's a dear, good girl," murmured Mrs. Gaston, as she kissed
her child again, and then turned away to resume once more her wearying
task. Unrolling one of the coarse jackets she had brought home, she
found that it was of heavy beaver cloth, and had to be sewed with
strong thread. For a moment or two, after she spread it out upon
the table, she looked at the many pieces to be wrought up into a
well-finished whole, and thought of the hours of hard labor it would
require to accomplish the task. A feeling of discouragement stole into
her heart, and she leaned her head listlessly upon the table. But only
a moment or two elapsed before a thought of her children aroused her
flagging energies.

It was after eleven o'clock before she was fairly at work. The first
thing to be done, after laying aside the different portions of the
garment in order, was to put in the pockets. This was not accomplished
before one o'clock, when she had to leave her work to prepare a meal
for herself and little ones. There remained from their supper and
breakfast a small portion of the fish and potatoes. Both of these had
been boiled, and hashed up together, and, of what remained, all that
was required was to make it into balls and fry it. This was not a
matter to occasion much delay. In fifteen minutes from the time she
laid aside her needle and thimble, the table had been set, with its one
dish upon it, and Harry and little Emma were eating with keen appetites
their simple meal. But, to Mrs. Gaston, the food was unpalatable; and
Ella turned from it with loathing. There was, however, nothing more in
the house; and both Ella and her mother had to practice self-denial and

After the table was cleared away, Mrs. Gaston again resumed her labor;
but Emma was unusually fretful, and hung about her mother nearly the
whole afternoon, worrying her mind, and keeping her back a good deal,
so that, when the brief afternoon had worn away, and the deepening
twilight compelled her to suspend her labors, she had made but little
perceptible progress in her work.

"Be good children now until I come back," she said, as she rose from
her chair, put on her bonnet, and drew an old Rob Roy shawl around her
shoulders. Descending then into the street, she took her way with a
quick step towards that part of the city in which her employer kept his
store. Her heart beat anxiously as she drew near, and trembled lest she
should not find him in. If not?--but the fear made her feel sick. She
had no food in the house, no friends to whom she could apply, and there
was no one of whom she could venture to ask to be trusted for even a
single loaf of bread. At length she reached the well-lighted store, in
which were several customers, upon whom both Berlaps and his clerk were
attending with business assiduity. The sight of the tailor relieved
the feelings of poor Mrs. Gaston very much. Passing on to the back
part of the store, she stood patiently awaiting his leisure. But his
customers were hard to please. And, moreover, one was scarcely suited
before another came in. Thus it continued for nearly half an hour, when
the poor woman became so anxious about the little ones she had left at
home, and especially about Ella, who had appeared to have a good deal
of fever when she came away, that she walked slowly down the store,
and paused opposite to where Berlaps stood waiting upon a customer, in
order to attract his attention. But he took not the slightest notice of
her. She remained thus for nearly ten minutes longer. Then she came up
to the side of the counter, and, leaning over towards him, said, in a
half whisper--

"Can I speak a word with you, Mr. Berlaps?"

"I've no time to attend to you now, woman," he answered, gruffly, and
the half frightened creature shrunk away quickly, and again stood far
back in the store.

It was full half an hour after this before the shop was cleared, and
then the tailor, instead of coming back to where Mrs. Gaston stood,
commenced folding up and replacing his goods upon the shelves. Fearful
lest other customers would enter, the seamstress came slowly forward,
and again stood near Berlaps.

"What do you want here to-night, woman?" asked the tailor, without
lifting his eyes from the employment in which he was engaged.

"I brought home the other pair of trowsers this morning, but you were
not in," Mrs. Gaston replied.


"Michael couldn't pay me, and so I've run up this evening."

"You're a very troublesome kind of a person," said Berlaps, looking
her rebukingly in the face. Then taking a dollar and five cents from
the drawer, he pushed them towards her on the counter, adding, as he
did so, "There, take your money. One would think you were actually

Mrs. Gaston picked up the coin eagerly, and hurried away. It was more
than an hour since she had left home. Her children were alone, and the
night had closed in some time before. The thought of this made her
quicken her pace to a run. As she passed on, the sight of an orange in
a window reminded her of her promise to Ella. She stopped and bought a
small one, and then hurried again on her way.

"Here's half a dollar of what I owe you, Mrs. Grubb," said she, as she
stepped into the shop of that personage, and threw the coin she named
upon the counter. "And now give me a loaf of bread, quickly; some
molasses in this cup, and a pint of milk in this," drawing two little
mugs from under her shawl as she spoke.

The articles she mentioned were soon ready for her. She had paid for
them, and was about stepping from the door, when she paused, and,
turning about, said--

"Oh, I had like to have forgotten! I want two cent candles. I shall
have to work late to-night."

The candles were cut from a large bunch hanging above the narrow
counter, wrapped in a very small bit of paper, and given to Mrs.
Gaston, who took them and went quickly away.

All was dark and still in the room that contained her children, as she
gained the house that sheltered them. She lit one of her candles below,
and went up stairs. As she entered, Ella's bright eyes glistened upon
her from the bed; but little Emma had fallen asleep with her head in
the lap of Henry, who was seated upon the floor with his back against
the wall, himself likewise locked in the arms of forgetfulness. The
fire had nearly gone out, and the room was quite cold.

"Oh, mother, why did you stay so long?" Ella asked, looking her
earnestly in the face.

"I couldn't get back any sooner, my dear. But see! I've brought the
orange you have wished for so long. You can eat it all by yourself, for
Emma is fast asleep on the floor, and can't cry for it."

But Emma roused up at the moment, and began to fret and cry for
something to eat.

"Don't cry, dear. You shall have your supper in a little while. I have
brought you home some nice bread and molasses," said the mother, in
tones meant to soothe and quiet her hungry and impatient little one.
But Emma continued to fret and cry on.

"It's so cold, mamma!" she said. "It's so cold, and I'm hungry!"

"Don't cry, dear," again urged the mother. "I'll make the fire up nice
and warm in a little while, and then you shall have something good to

But--"It's so cold, mamma! it's so cold! and I'm hungry!" was the
continued and incessant complaint of the poor child.

All this time, Ella had been busily engaged in peeling her orange and
dividing it into four quarters.

"See here, Emma! Look what I've got!" she said, in a lively, cheerful
tone, as soon as her orange had been properly divided. "Come, cover up
in bed here with me, until the fire's made, and you shall have this
nice bit of orange."

Emma's complaints ceased in a moment, and she turned towards her
sister, and clambered upon the bed.

"And here's a piece for you, Henry, and a piece for mother, too,"
continued Ella, reaching out two other portions.

"No, dear, keep it for yourself. I don't want it," said the mother.

"And Emma shall have my piece," responded Henry; "she wants it worse
than I do."

"That is right. Be good children, and love one another," said Mrs.
Gaston, encouragingly. "But Emma don't want brother Henry's piece, does

"No, Emma don't want brother Henry's piece," repeated the child; and
she took up a portion of the orange as she spoke, and handed it to her

Henry received it, and, getting upon the bed with his sisters, shared
with them not only the orange, but kind fraternal feelings. The taste
of the fruit revived Ella a good deal, and she, with the assistance of
Henry, succeeded in amusing Emma until their mother had made the fire
and boiled some water. Into a portion of the water she poured about
half of the milk she had brought home, and, filling a couple of tin
cups with this, set it with bread and molasses upon a little table, and
called Henry and Emma to supper. The children, at this announcement,
scrambled from the bed, and, pushing chairs up to the table, commenced
eating the supper provided for them with keen appetites. Into what
remained of the pint of milk, Mrs. Gaston poured a small portion of
hot water, and then crumbled some bread, and put a few grains of salt
into it, and took this to the bed for Ella. The child ate two or three
spoonfuls; but her stomach soon turned against the food.

"I don't feel hungry, mother," said she, as she laid herself back upon
the pillow.

"But you've eaten scarcely anything to-day. Try and take a little
more, dear. It will do you good."

"I can't, indeed, mother." And a slight expression of loathing passed
over the child's face.

"Can't you think of something you could eat?" urged the mother.

"I don't want anything. The orange tasted good, and that is enough for
to-night," Ella replied, in a cheerful voice.

Mrs. Gaston then sat down by the table with Henry and Emma, and ate
a small portion of bread and molasses. But this food touched not her
palate with any pleasurable sensation. She ate only because she knew
that, unless she took food, she would not have strength to perform her
duties to her children. For a long series of years, her system had been
accustomed to the generous excitement of tea at the evening meal. A
cup of good tea had become almost indispensable to her. It braced her
system, cleared her head, and refreshed her after the unremitting toils
of the day. But, for some time past, she had felt called upon, for the
sake of her children, to deny herself this luxury--no, comfort--no,
this, to her, one of the necessaries of life. The consequence was that
her appetite lost its tone. No food tasted pleasantly to her; and the
labors of the evening were performed under depression of spirits and
nervous relaxation of body.

This evening she ate, compulsorily, as usual, a small portion of dry
bread, and drank a few mouthfuls of warm water in which a little milk
had been poured. As she did so, her eyes turned frequently upon the
face of Henry, a fair-haired, sweet-faced, delicate boy, her eldest
born--the first pledge of pure affection, and the promise of a happy
wedded life. Sadly, indeed, had time changed since then. A young
mother, smiling over her first born--how full of joy was the sunlight
of each succeeding day! Now, widowed and alone, struggling with failing
and unequal strength against the tide that was slowly bearing her down
the stream, each morning broke to her more and more drearily, and each
evening, as it closed darkly in, brought another shadow to rest in
despondency upon her spirit. Faithfully had she struggled on, hoping
still to be able to keep her little ones around her. The proposition
of Michael to put out Henry startled into activity the conscious fear
that had for some months been stifled in her bosom; and now she had to
look the matter full in the face, and, in spite of all her feelings of
reluctance, confess to herself that the effort to keep her children
around her must prove unavailing. But how could she part with her boy?
How could she see him put out among strangers? How could she bear to
let him go away from her side, and be henceforth treated as a servant,
and be compelled to perform labor above his years? The very thought
made her sick.

Her frugal meal was soon finished, and then the children were put
to bed. After laying away their clothes, and setting back the table
from which their supper had been eaten, Mrs. Gaston seated herself
by the already nearly half burned penny candle, whose dim light
scarcely enabled her failing eyesight to discern the edges of the
dark cloth upon which she was working, and composed herself to her
task. Hour after hour she toiled on, weary and aching in every limb.
But she remitted not her labors until long after midnight, and then
not until her last candle had burned away to the socket in which it
rested. Then she put aside her work with a sigh, as she reflected
upon the slow progress she had made, and, disrobing herself, laid her
over-wearied body beside that of her sick child. Ella was asleep; but
her breathing was hard, and her mother perceived, upon laying her hand
upon her face, that her fever had greatly increased. But she knew no
means of alleviation, and therefore did not attempt any. In a little
while, nature claimed for her a respite. Sleep locked her senses in

    (To be continued.)


It may interest some of our readers to know how this ingenious
invention is applied to such various purposes of utility. The following
brief account will explain the mode of operation:--


The sewing-machine, of which a representation is now given, is about
twelve inches square, and is driven by a wheel at the end of a main
shaft which passes through the machine. The wheel can be driven either
by the hand, foot, or steam-engine. From the top plate of the machine
and at the side on which the wheel is placed, an arm rises to about
ten inches and extends to the opposite or front side, in which arm
is worked a lever which drives the vertical needle. This needle is
attached to a sliding bar, worked by the arm. Underneath and below
the plate of the machine is another needle of horizontal shape, which
is fed by a bobbin or reel of thread also out of sight. Imagine the
vertical needle as being threaded and supplied by a reel on the top
of the arm, and the horizontal needle threaded as described, and the
machine put in motion; the vertical needle would penetrate the cloth or
other material, say half an inch below the surface, and, on being drawn
back by the action of the machine, would leave a loop; when this loop
is formed, and at the exact time, the horizontal needle enters it and
holds the thread until the stitch is formed, when by a counter action
it revolves back and throws the loop off and takes another. The machine
is capable of stitching every part of any garment, except the buttons
and button-holes, whether the work be _light_ or _heavy_, _coarse_ or
_fine_; also for gaiters, boots, shoes, sacks, bags, sailcloths, tents,
&c. &c. It is so _simple_ in its construction and action that it may
be worked by a _child_, and will sew a circle, curve, or turn a square
corner, equally as well as a straight line. It is only twelve inches
square, and is driven by the hand or foot. By the action of a screen
in the machine, the stitch can be either lengthened or shortened, as
may be desired. The machine feeds itself with both cloth and thread,
and it is only necessary for the operator to guide the material to the
needle to sew. It will with ease sew a yard per minute, stronger, more
uniform, and consequently better than it is possible to be done by





(_Dated February 11th._)


Oh! my dear Nelly, I'm in such a mess, and can't think how I am to get
out of it. I would run away, only I don't know where to run to: and,
besides, all the doors are fast; and more than that, I feel ma would
only bring me back again if I were to get away. Only think of that
shabby Mrs. ---- (you know whom I mean) opening all the letters; and I
never knew this until my letter was in her bag. Mrs. Sharpe (who has
promised to give this to some one who will drop it in the post on the
sly for me) says every word we write home, and every word we receive
from home, is pried into, and very often kept back if it does not
exactly please the Lady Principal! A pretty lady! I wonder she isn't
ashamed of herself! A nice example to set us young girls--actually
teaching as to go a peeping into other persons' secrets! Meggy (that's
Miss Sharpe's name) says she intends speaking to her papa about it. He
is a Scotch lawyer; and she has often heard him say that there's a fine
of 100_l._ for any one who breaks a seal upon trust papers! What fun it
would be if we could make the Lady Principal pay 100_l._! I'm sure it
would only serve her right.

The beauty of it is, Nelly, she says she only looks at the signatures
of the letters that come here, to see if they are from proper persons.
This is very likely! How, then, _does she know all that is going on in
the girls' homes, if she never reads their letters_? I've no patience
with her! I'm sure that I shall never be able to look the mean creature
in the face again.

Now, Nelly, I must tell you all about the young ladies; for I may not
have another opportunity, dearest, of smuggling out a letter.

Well, then, when we went to breakfast, Mrs. Rodwell was seated on a
sort of raised throne at the end of the table, and all the girls walked
up to her to courtesy, and "_souhaiter le bon jour, Madame_," and show
her--this is a positive fact, dearest--their teeth and nails! Meggy
told me this was to teach us to keep them sharp and in good fighting
condition, as _woman's natural weapons_; but she was only laughing
at me, for I learnt afterwards it was to see that they were properly
cleaned every morning. But I think the practice might well be dispensed
with, as not being over and above complimentary to young ladies!

When my turn came, I was preparing to show my teeth in real
earnest--for I felt both indignant and ashamed of such treatment--when
she took me kindly by the hand, and instantly, at that touch of
kindness, my mouth shut of its own accord. She asked me how I had
slept, and introduced me to Miss Plodder, who, she said would cheer my
spirits and make me feel more at home. She is such a fat, round, little
sleepy, and looks as stupid, too, as she is fat! If my spirits have to
wait for Miss Plodder to cheer them, I'm afraid they'll have to wait
long enough.

Well, my own darling Nell knows I am not dainty, and that I should
think it wicked to be fanciful over good food; but I never did see such
thick slices of bread, smeared over with what they called butter. I
have not been so petted at home as to quarrel at any time with my bread
and butter; but, on my word, I should as soon have thought of munching
a deal board, as taking up one of the long slices--planks, rather--that
were piled up, as in a timber yard, before me; and yet, to see the poor
hungry girls! If it had been wedding-cake, they could not have devoured
it more greedily!

I thought of the dear delicious hot rolls, soaked through and through
with the best Fresh (at sixteen pence a pound) that I had been in the
habit of having every morning for breakfast, and sighed that I was not
at home.

Meggy asked me which I liked best, "_hay or beans?_" Before I could
answer that I had never tasted either, the Lady Principal inquired "if
I took cocoa or coffee?" A basin of the latter was brought to me, but
unless I had been told it was coffee, I'm sure I should never have
guessed it. It looked more like water taken from the Regent's-canal.
Meggy whispered into my ear, "Hay's best;" and seeing me puzzled, she
explained, shortly afterwards, that, in their school dictionary, hay
meant cocoa, and that beans was the English for coffee, from a popular
belief, which she said "was extremely well grounded" (in their coffee
cups), that "those agricultural commodities formed the principal
ingredients of their matutinal beverages."

Meggy Sharpe is such a nice girl, so clever, and so full of fun, and
such large bright, black eyes, and a face laughing all over with
mischief, it puts one in good-humor merely to look at it. I feel I
shall love her very much, but not so much as you, dearest Nelly.

After breakfast, she told Miss Plodder that she would "take care of
me, and introduce me to the Elders." Then bidding me not to be afraid,
she led me by the hand to a group of tall young ladies, and in a set
speech, delivered in a mock tone, such as I've heard my brothers
imitate Mr. John Cooper in, "begged to present a humble candidate to
their friendship and favor." The tallest, a Miss Noble, who seemed the
head girl, and as stiff as a backboard, made me welcome, and then began
questioning me in the following manner: "Did I live in London?--at the
Westend, of course?--perhaps in Belgrave-square? No! then near Hyde
Park? No! then in one of the squares? Yes! Well, some of the squares
were still respectable. In which of the squares did I live, pray?"

I mumbled out, as well as I could, "Torrington-square."

"Oh! hem! where was Torrington-square?" continued my tormentor. "Near
the city, was it not? No!--what, near Russell-square and Gower-street?
Gower-street! Well, really, she knew nothing of those parts of the

I was next asked, "Whether my mamma went to court?"

"No," I answered, in my ignorance; "but papa does sometimes, and takes
his blue bag with him when he has law business." This gave rise to
shouts of laughter, and long exclamations of "Dear, dear!" whilst looks
of pity were showered down upon me.

"I mean," continued Miss Noble, "her Majesty's receptions. My mamma
goes to court; and I am to be presented myself by the Grand Duchess of
Mechlenburgh-Sedlitz immediately on my leaving college;" and she tossed
her head up to the ceiling, until I thought it would never come down

"How did you come last night?" resumed Miss Noble. "In the omnibus,"
cried out wicked Meggy, who immediately ran away.

"No; I know how she came," said another beauty, "for I was in the
drawing-room at the time, and looked out of the window; she came in a
clarence _with one horse_." And they all tittered again, and I felt my
cheeks growing red, though why I should be ashamed of mamma's pretty
clarence I don't know, even though it has but _one_ horse.

I was next asked, "Whether my paternal (meaning papa, I suppose) lived
at home?" "Of course," I answered; "where should he live?" "Why some
people have an establishment in the city, and a family in a square.
The shop (and they tittered again) must not be neglected." "Do not be
rude, Miss Ogle," interrupted Miss Noble, affecting to be very serious;
"personalities are extremely rude; and, besides, Miss Clover's father
may not live in a shop. Tell us, dear, what profession are you in?"
"I--I'm in no profession," I said, trembling lest I should be laughed
at again. "Dear! what beautiful simplicity!" said the court lady,
lifting her hands up; "not you--your father, child." "Oh! papa is a
stockbroker." "A what? A stockbroker! Pray, what's that?" "I know,"
said the young lady who had told about the clarence with one horse;
"it's a trade; for I hear papa talk of desiring his stockbroker to buy
and sell; and I am certain, now I think of it, that they deal in _bears
and ducks_." "No such thing," exclaimed a little girl with a turn-up
nose; "they sell old stocks, such as bankrupts' stocks, or retiring
haberdashers' stocks; they're a sort of old-clothesmen." "At any rate,
they are not professional, and therefore must be in trade," decided
proud Miss Noble; and they all turned away from me, with sneers and
contempt. "It's no such thing," I burst out; "my papa is a gentleman--a
real gentleman--and he's quite as good, if not better, than any of your
papas, though you are so proud; and I sha'n't answer any more of your
rude questions." "That's right," laughed Meggy; "that's the way to
disappoint them. Don't tell 'em anything."

You should have heard, too, Nelly, their curiosity about my brothers,
making me describe them over and over again--their eyes, whiskers,
noses, and calling them by their names, Oscar, Alfred, Augustus, Henry,
as if they had known them for years. The impudent girl, with the
turn-up nose, actually said she felt she could madly love Oscar; and
I couldn't help replying, "You need not trouble yourself, Miss; he'll
never ask you." Silly thing! I'm sure Oscar wouldn't as much as look at
her--not even in church.

But the greatest shame has yet to come. You can never believe what I am
going to tell you, Nelly, although you know I scorn fibbing.

Class had just broken up, when a maid came in carrying a large tray;
and only imagine my confusion when I saw laid out on it all my cakes
and goodies! Miss Bright (the quiet teacher who had brought me into
the schoolroom) called me, and I was going to ask for permission to
put them into my play-trunk, when--think of my surprise, Nelly!--if
she did not actually seize _my plum-cake, and begin cutting it up into
thin slices_! At first I was so shocked that I could not speak; and
I was about to stop her, when she cut some large slices, and desired
me "to hand them to the governesses, and then take the dish round to
each young lady." I am afraid I looked vexed, and, in truth, I was
nearly choking with passion; and I am sure you would have done the
same, Nelly, for you would have seen no joke in treating girls to your
goodies, after they had been making fun of you, and turning your papa
and mamma into ridicule. But this was not all; for one rude thing, upon
ascertaining from me that mamma made it, said, in a voice running over
with vinegar, "I thought so, for she has forgotten the plums." Then my
oranges were cut into quarters, and I had to hand them round also (_the
governesses had halves!_) until all was gone, and I had only two pieces
myself as a favor. Now, don't think me greedy, Nelly--you know I don't
care for feasting, only I do not like to be forced to be generous, and
to give to all alike, whether I like them or not--offering as much to
that proud Miss Noble (who is not too proud, however, to eat another
girl's cake) as to dear Meggy. I dare say it is very pleasant when it's
not your own--"share and share alike" is all very fine; but I should
like to know when their goodies are coming? As I am the last girl
entering this term, I suppose it won't be before next half-year? And
I mean to say, Nelly, it is most heart-rending--putting insult on the
top of cruelty--to force you to help the governesses, and to _double
shares, too_, whilst I'm sure my slice broke all to pieces, it was so
miserably thin.

Oh, dear, there's Mrs. Rodwell. If she catches me writing, I shall be
found out; so, my own darling Nelly, I must say good-by. Mind you write
soon, and tell me all about dear S. Has he asked after me? and often?
Is he pale? Tell him not to forget your devoted, true-hearted


       *       *       *       *       *

P. S.--Oh! Nelly, I have had such a fright; my heart is jumping up and
down like a canary in a cage when the cat's underneath it. Only think
of the Lady Principal's coming up to my desk. I made sure it was to
ask me for this letter, and I determined in my mind to swallow it
sooner than let her read it. But, thank goodness! it was only to say
she had not opened my last letter to you, as it was sealed; but, for
the future, she would close them herself, after looking over their
contents. Much obliged! Catch me giving her any other than my own
compositions. So, darling, we are safe; but isn't that lucky?

P. S.--I'm sure you'll never be able to read this scrawl. Why didn't
you answer my last?


"I heard an anecdote that evening of the poet, which was very
characteristic, and quite new to me. When at Pisa, his lordship found
it difficult to keep up his practice with the pistol on account of the
objections of his neighbors and the municipal regulations of the place.
He, therefore, by the aid of a small gratuity, obtained permission from
a farmer in the vicinity to shoot at a mark in his paddock. On the
occasion of his first visit to the premises, the peasant's daughter,
a very pretty _contadina_, accosted the bard after the genial manner
of her country. She wore in her bosom a freshly-plucked rose with two
buds attached to the stein. Byron sportively asked her to give him
the flower. She hesitated, and blushed. He instantly turned to his
companion and rehearsed in English a very natural tale of humble and
virtuous love, bitterly contrasting the apparent loyalty of this fair
rustic with women in high life. Then, with perfect seriousness, he
again asked for the rose as a token of sympathy for an unloved exile.
His manner and words moved the girl to tears. She handed him the
rose with a look of compassion, and silently withdrew. The incident
aroused his latent superstition. He was lost in a reverie for several
minutes, and then inquired of his friend if he remembered that Rousseau
confessed throwing stones at a tree to test the prospects of his future
happiness. The flower was devoted to a similar ordeal. It was carefully
attached to an adjacent pale, and Byron having withdrawn several paces,
declared his intention of severing one of the buds from the stalk at
one fire. He looked very carefully to his priming, and aimed with great
firmness and deliberation. The ball cut the bud neatly off, and just
grazed the leaves of the rose. A bright smile illumined the poet's
countenance, and he rode back to Pisa in a flow of spirits."



ORION.--Whoever learns this constellation can never forget the
brilliant lesson. It is too clearly defined and magnificently beautiful
to pass from the memory. It is distinguished by four bright stars,
which form a parallelogram: Betelguese, a star of great brilliancy, and
of the first magnitude, in the right shoulder, Bellatrix in the left,
7½° east of Betelguese, are called the "epaulets of Orion." Rigel, a
star of the first magnitude, marks the left foot, and is 15° south of
Bellatrix. Eight and a half degrees east of Rigel is Saiph, forming the
lower end of the parallelogram.

                        "First in rank
    The martial star upon his shoulder flames:
    A rival star illuminates his foot;
    And on his girdle beams a luminary
    Which, in the vicinity of other stars,
    Might claim the proudest honors."

Three bright stars lie in a straight line near the middle of the
square, and are known by the name of the "Three Kings," or the "Ell,"
or "Yard." In sacred history, they are usually termed the "bands of
Orion;" they are also known as the "belt" of Orion. The space they
occupy is three degrees, and a straight line passing through them,
points to the Pleiades on one side and Sirius on the other. There is
a row of small stars running down obliquely from the belt, called
the "sword of Orion." In the middle of this row is one of the most
remarkable nebulæ in the heavens. With a good telescope, in the centre
an apparent opening is discovered, through which, as through a window,
we seem to get a glimpse of other heavens and brighter regions beyond.
How little man appears, with all his pride of pomp and splendor, in
contemplating this immeasurable expanse, and with awe we are led to
exclaim, "What is man, that _Thou_ art mindful of him?"

About 9° west of Bellatrix are eight stars of the fourth magnitude,
in a curved line that marks the lion's skin, which Orion used as a
shield in his left hand. Rheita asserts there are 2,000 stars in this
constellation, although but 78 are visible to the naked eye. Galileo
found 80 in the belt, 21 in a nebulous star in the head, and about 500
in another part within the space of four degrees. This constellation
comes to the meridian the 21st of January.

According to some Greek authorities, Orion was a son of Neptune and
Euryale, a famous Amazonian huntress, and inheriting the disposition
of his mother, became the most famous hunter in the world, and boasted
that there was not an animal on earth which he could not conquer. To
punish this vanity, a scorpion sprang out of the earth and bit him, so
that he died of the poison, and, at the request of Diana, he was placed
among the stars opposite the scorpion that caused his death. Others say
that he was the gift of the gods to a peasant of Bœotia as a reward for
piety, and that he far surpassed other mortals in strength and stature.

    "When chilling winter spreads his azure skies,
    Behold Orion's giant form arise;
    His golden girdle glitters on the sight,
    And the broad falchion beams in splendor bright;
    A lion's brindled hide his bosom shields,
    And his right hand a ponderous weapon wields!"

LEPUS--_The Hare._--This constellation is situated south of Orion,
and comes to the meridian on the 24th of January. It may readily be
distinguished by means of four stars of the third magnitude, which
form an irregular square or trapezium. Three small stars curve along
the back, while four minute ones mark the ears, and are 5° south of
Rigel, whose brilliancy obscures their lesser light. The Greeks assert
this animal was one which Orion delighted in hunting, therefore it was
placed near him in the sky.

       *       *       *       *       *

COLUMBIA--_Noah's Dove._--Continuing a straight line from the Hare 16°
south, it comes to Phaet, a star of the second magnitude, in the Dove.
This star is also on the meridian at the same time with that in the
belt of Orion, and with Sirius and Naos makes an equilateral triangle.
This constellation is so called in commemoration of the dove Noah sent
out "to see if the waters were abated from off the face of the ground,"
after the ark had rested on Ararat. "And the dove came in to him, in
the evening, and lo! in her mouth was an olive leaf!"

                    "The sure messenger,
    A dove went forth once, and again, to spy
    Green tree or ground whereon his foot may light;
    The second time returning, in his bill
    An olive leaf he brings, pacific sign!"

       *       *       *       *       *

ERIDANUS.--This constellation is composed of 84 stars, of which one is
of the first magnitude, one of the second, and eleven of the third.
The others are very minute stars, and the constellation is exceedingly
difficult to trace in the heavens. Achernar is a star of great
brilliancy and beauty, but it cannot be seen in our latitude, having a
southern declination of 58°. West of Rigel are four stars of the fourth
magnitude, and five of the fifth, arching up in a semicircular form,
marking the first bend of the northern stream, while 19° west of Rigel
glitters a bright star of the second magnitude, called Gamma. This star
is on the meridian thirteen minutes after the Pleiades. The entire
length of Eridanus is 130°, and as the other stars which compose it are
very minute, it is not desirable to trace them.

The Latin poets have rendered this river (which is in Cisalpine Gaul,
and also called Padus, and by moderns, Po) memorable by its connection
with the beautiful fable of Phaeton, a favorite of Venus, who intrusted
him with the care of one of her temples. Vain of the favor of the
goddess, he obtained an oath from his father, Phœbus, that he would
grant him any request he should make. The charioteer of the skies had
no sooner uttered the oath than

    "The youth, transported, asks without delay,
    To guide the Sun's bright chariot for a day;
    The god repented of the oath he took,
    For anguish thrice his radiant head he shook;
    'My son,' says he, 'some other proof require--
    Rash was my promise, rash was thy desire;
    Not Jove himself, the ruler of the sky,
    That hurls the three-forked thunder from above,
    Dares try his strength; yet who as strong as Jove?
    Besides, consider what impetuous force
    Turns stars and planets in a different course:
    I steer against their motions; nor am I
    Borne back by all the currents of the sky;
    But how could you resist the orbs that roll
    In adverse whirls, and stem the rapid pole!'"

Phœbus pleaded with his son in vain. Phaeton undertook the aerial
journey, and no sooner had he received the reins than he forgot the
explicit directions of his father, and betrayed his ignorance of the
manner of guiding the chariot. The flying coursers became sensible
of the confusion of their driver, and immediately departed from the
usual track. Too late Phaeton saw his rashness, and already heaven and
earth were threatened with destruction as the penalty, when Jupiter,
perceiving the disorder of the horses, struck the driver with a
thunderbolt, and he fell headlong into the river Eridanus--

    "At once from life, and from the chariot driven,
    The ambitious boy fell thunderstruck from heaven."

In Ethiopian and Libyan mythology, it is asserted that the great heat
produced by the sun's deviation from his usual course dried up the
blood of the Ethiopians, and turned their skins black, and produced
sterility and barrenness over the greater part of Libya. Evidently this
fable alludes to some extraordinary heats at a remote period, and of
which this confused tradition is all the account that has descended to
later times.

       *       *       *       *       *

CAMELOPARDALUS.--This constellation is of modern origin, and the
stars--the largest being of the fourth magnitude--are too unimportant
and scattered to invite attention. It occupies the space between the
head of the Lynx and the pole, containing 58 minute stars.

       *       *       *       *       *

AURIGA.--This brilliant constellation is readily distinguished by the
most beautiful star which lies between Orion and the polar star. This
star is called Capella, and marks the position of the Goat, as well
as the heart of Auriga, and with Menkalina in the right shoulder,
and Auriga or El Nath in the right foot, which also forms the top of
the northern horn of the Bull, forms a beautiful triangle. Capella
and Menkalina in the shoulders, have the same distance between them,
and are of the same size and brilliancy as Betelguese and Bellatrix
in Orion, being 7½° apart, and the four form a long, narrow
parallelogram, lying north and south, and it is a curious coincidence
that its length is precisely five times its breadth. Auriga, Capella,
and Menkalina, together with a star of the fourth magnitude in the
head, marked Delta, make an elongated diamond. There can be no more
exciting, rational, or pleasant pastime than that of forming different
objects by various arrangements of the stars. Select any portion of
the heavens, and squares, angles, curves, crosses, and diamonds are
visible, and no shape can hardly be conceived that its counterpart
might not be traced in the starry firmament above. Those who have never
spent an hour thus pleasantly employed, are not aware of the pleasure
to be found in contemplating the "stars, which are the poetry of

    "Seest thou the orbs that numerous roll above?
    Those lamps that nightly greet thy visual powers
    Are each a bright capacious world like ours!"

Mythology is at fault as to the origin of this constellation, and
all the most ancient authors are indefinite about its history. Its
origin is known to be very ancient, but nothing well authenticated has
descended to us as to the period or the character from which it took
its rise.

    "The blue, deep, glorious heavens! I lift mine eyes
    And bless thee, O my God! that I have met
    And owned thy image in the majesty
    Of their calm temple, still! that never yet
    There hath thy face been shrouded from my sight
    By noontide blaze, or sweeping storm of night!
                      I bless thee, O my God!"

       *       *       *       *       *

GEMINI.--This constellation is remarkable from the singularity of
one of its most brilliant stars, Castor, which, on looking through
a telescope, resolves into two distinct stars, one of which is very
small, and revolves around the larger one once in a period of 342 years
and two months. Four and a half degrees south-west of Castor may be
seen Pollux, a star of equal brilliancy. This constellation comes to
its meridian the 24th of February. It takes its rise from Castor and
Pollux, sons of Jupiter and Leda, Queen of Sparta, who were translated
to a place in the heavens by Jupiter, as a reward for their courage and

    "Fair Leda's twins in time to stars decreed;
    One fought on foot, and one renowned for horse."

       *       *       *       *       *

CANIS MINOR.--This is a small constellation, containing only fourteen
stars, of which two are of great brilliancy. Procyon, a star of the
first magnitude, is situated twenty-three degrees south of Pollux,
and twenty-six degrees east of Betelguese, and forms with them a
large right-angled triangle. Procyon comes to the meridian the 24th
of February. According to Greek mythology, this is one of Orion's
hounds. The Egyptians, however, claim its origin from their god Anubis,
whom they worshipped under the form of a dog's head. Probably the
Egyptians were the inventors of the idea, as the constellation rises
a little before Sirius, which, at a particular season, they always
dreaded; therefore they represented it as a watchful creature, that
warned them of the approach of danger. Moderns have asserted it to be
one of Actæon's hounds, that devoured their master after he had been
transformed into a stag by Diana, to prevent his betraying her. This is
evidently an error, as there is no proof to sustain it.

       *       *       *       *       *

CANIS MAJOR.--This interesting constellation is situated south-east
of Orion, and is universally known by the brilliancy of its principal
star, Sirius, which is the largest and brightest in the heavens. In our
hemisphere, during the winter months, it glows with a lustre unequalled
by any other star in the firmament. It is also the nearest star to the
earth, yet the distance between Sirius and us is so great that sound,
travelling thirteen miles a minute, would be three millions of years
in traversing the mighty space. And a ray of light, which moves at the
rate of 200,000 miles per second, would be three years and eighty-two
days in passing through the vast space that lies between Sirius and
the earth. If the nearest star to the earth gives such results, what
must those give situated a thousand times as far beyond, where worlds,
surrounded by their satellites, roll in their orbits away in the
immensity of space, each revolving around its own sun, while, millions
of miles beyond, stars, like our own, greet their visual organs, and
inspire as great an interest to the inhabitants of that world as those
do to us which we discover by the aid of our powerful telescopes?

The Thebans determine the length of the year by Sirius, and the
Egyptians dreaded its approach, as, at its rising, commenced the
inundation of the Nile, teeming with malaria and death.

    "Parched was the grass, and blighted was the corn,
    Nor 'scape the beasts; for Sirius, from on high,
    With pestilential heat infects the sky."

The Romans, also, were accustomed yearly to propitiate Sirius by the
sacrifice of a dog.


The wonderful ingenuity of bees has often been remarked. The
rose-cutter separates circular pieces from leaves with precision, and,
digging a hole six or eight inches deep in the ground, the bee rolls
up the leaf, and depositing it in the hole, lodges and secures an egg
in it, with food for the larva when hatched, and often several, but
all separated, and very perfect, and the bee then presides in the
upper part to protect her brood. The upholsterer makes a hole enlarged
at the bottom, and lines the whole with red poppy leaves, lays her
eggs, supplies them with food, &c., separately, then turns down the
lining to cover them, and closing the hole, leaves them to nature. The
wood-piercer makes a perpendicular hole with vast labor in a decaying
tree, in the sunshine, a foot deep; then deposits her eggs and food,
and separates each by a dwarf wall made of sawdust and gluten, each
higher than the other, and the last closing the hole; and she then
makes another hole horizontally, to enable them to escape as they
successively mature. The mason-bee constructs a nest on the side of
a sunny wall, makes up sand pellets with gluten, and by persevering
industry fixes and finishes a cell, in which it lays an egg and
provisions. It then forms others beside it, and covers in the whole,
the structure being as firm as the stone. Wasps and humble-bees make
cavities in banks. They line them with wax, and make innumerable cells
for their eggs in perfect communities.


(Continued from page 55.)


Mr. Layard, having a small amount of money at his disposal, proceeded
to make excavations at Konyunjik, opposite Mosul, where the first
Assyrian Sculptures had been found. In a month, nine chambers had
been explored. The palace had been destroyed by fire. The alabaster
slabs were almost reduced to lime, and many of them fell to pieces as
soon as uncovered. In its architecture, the newly-discovered edifice
resembled the palaces of Nimroud and Khorsobad. The chambers were
long and narrow. The walls were of unbaked bricks, with a panelling
of sculptured slabs. The bas-reliefs were greatly inferior in general
design, and in the beauty of the details, to those of the earliest
palace of Nimroud.

The funds assigned to the Trustees of the British Museum for the
excavations in Assyria had now been expended by Mr. Layard. He had
every reason to congratulate himself upon the results of his labors.
Scarcely a year before, with the exception of the ruins of Khorsobad,
not one Assyrian monument was known. Almost sufficient materials had
now been obtained to restore much of the lost history of the country,
and to confirm the vague traditions of the learning and civilization
of its people, hitherto considered fabulous. The monuments had been
carefully preserved, and the inscriptions in the cuneiform character
copied entire. Bidding his workmen an affectionate farewell, and
receiving their best wishes for his future prosperity, Mr. Layard left
the ancient Assyria for England.

Our explorer was not allowed to remain inactive long. After a few
months' residence in England, during the year 1848, to recruit his
constitution, he received orders to proceed to his post of Her
Majesty's Embassy in Turkey. Soon afterwards, his work, "Nineveh and
its Remains," was published; and so intense was the interest excited,
that the Trustees of the British Museum requested him to undertake
the superintendence of a second expedition into Assyria. Mr. Layard
cheerfully consented, and immediately formed a plan of operations.
Mr. H. Cooper, a competent artist, was appointed to accompany the
expedition, and several Arabs, who had been found able and faithful,
were secured by Mr. Layard. Such was the size of the party formed,
that it was deemed necessary to journey in a caravan to Mosul. On the
way, Mr. Layard, ever observing and curious, traced the line of the
celebrated retreat of Xenophon and his ten thousand Greeks.

The very day after his arrival at Mosul, Mr. Layard visited the
mound of Konyunjik. The earth had accumulated above the ruins to a
considerable depth; and, to save the labor of clearing it all away,
the workmen constructed tunnels. Twelve or fourteen parties of laborers
were organized by Mr. Layard, and all worked under his superintendence.
Operations were carried on at the same time at the great mound of
Nimroud. Within two months, several magnificent chambers were excavated
at Konyunjik. Assyrian conquests were represented upon the bas-reliefs,
each chamber being devoted to one conquering expedition. Thus each was,
so to speak, a new volume of history. An understanding of the copious
inscriptions in cuneiform character was all that was necessary to the
perusal; and, thanks to the exertions of Rawlinson, Hincks, and other
scholars, this character was now readable to a considerable extent.

The Assyrian mode of building was fully illustrated on the bas-reliefs.
From them, Mr. Layard found that the Assyrians were well acquainted
with the lever and the roller, and also with the art of twisting thick
ropes. The men employed in building were known to be captives by their
wearing chains, and being urged on by masters armed with staves. A king
was represented as superintending the erection of the edifice, and Mr.
Layard says that there can be but little doubt that it was intended for
Sennacherib, whom the inscriptions mention as the builder of the great
palace of Nineveh, and as a mighty conqueror.

The discovery of the grand entrance to the palace of Konyunjik was
an important result of Mr. Layard's labors. It was a façade on the
south-east side of the edifice. Ten colossal bulls, with six human
figures of gigantic proportions, were here grouped together, and the
length of the whole, without including the sculptured walls continued
beyond the smaller entrances, was estimated at one hundred and eighty
feet. Among the figures that adorned this grand entrance was seen the
Assyrian Hercules, strangling a lion. The legs, feet, and drapery of
the god were in the boldest relief, and designed with truth and vigor.

On the slabs in one of the chambers of this palace was represented the
siege and capture of Lachish, or Lakhisha, a Jewish city, which, as
we know from Scripture, was taken by Sennacherib. The whole power of
the king seemed to have been called forth to take this stronghold. All
the operations of the besiegers were represented. Before the gate of
the city was Sennacherib, seated on a gorgeous throne, giving orders
for the slaughter of the citizens. The chiefs of conquered tribes
were represented as crouching at the foot of the throne. At the head
of the king was an inscription, which Dr. Hincks thus translates:
"Sennacherib, the mighty king, king of the country of Assyria, sitting
on the throne of judgment, before (or at the entrance of) the city
of Lachish (Lakhisha). I give permission for its slaughter." This
furnishes a very important illustration of the Bible.


In a chamber, in the south-west corner of the same palace, was found a
large number of finely engraved seals, and among them was one--believed
to be the royal signet--having engraved upon it a king plunging a
dagger into a rampant lion. Egyptian and Phœnician seals were also
discovered in the same apartment. One of the Egyptian seals has been
discovered to be that of Sabaco, who reigned in Egypt at the end of the
seventh century before Christ, the exact time at which Sennacherib came
to the throne. The signets of the two kings were most probably attached
to a treaty. Iron picks and saws, a large number of bronze articles,
pearl and ivory ornaments, part of an ivory staff, believed to have
been a sceptre, and many other curious remains of ancient art, were
discovered in the various chambers of this gorgeous palace.

During the removal of some sculptures, Mr. Layard had an opportunity
of visiting some remarkable remains near the village of Bavian. They
were bas-reliefs, cut in the rock, representing warlike events. One
of the tablets contained a horseman at full speed, and the remains
of other figures. Both horse and rider were of colossal proportions,
and wonderful for their spirit and outline. The warrior, who wore the
Assyrian armor, was in the act of charging the enemy. Before him was a
colossal figure of the king, and behind him a deity with a horned cap.
Above his head was a row of smaller figures of gods standing on animals
of various forms. The inscriptions upon these rock-sculptures show that
they were designed to commemorate the triumphant return of Sennacherib
from his expedition against Babylon. Beneath the sculptured tablets,
and in the bed of the Gomel, were seen two enormous fragments of rock,
which appeared to have been torn from the overhanging cliff. They still
bore the remains of ancient sculpture. On them was represented the
Assyrian Hercules strangling the lion, between two winged, human-headed
bulls, back to back, as at the grand entrances of the palaces of
Konyunjik and Khorsobad. Above this group was the king, worshipping
between two deities, who stood on mythic animals, having the heads of
eagles, the bodies and forefeet of lions, and hind legs armed with the
talons of a bird of prey.


Remains and foundations of buildings in well-hewn stones were
discovered under the thick mud deposited by the Gomel when swollen by
rains. A series of basins cut in the rock, and descending in steps to
the stream, were discovered by excavation. The water had originally
been led from one to the other by small conduits, the lowest of
which was ornamented at its mouth by two rampant lions in relief.
Mr. Layard restored this fountain as it had been in the time of the
Assyrians. From the nature and number of the monuments at Bavian, the
explorer inferred that it had been a sacred spot, devoted to religious
ceremonies and national sacrifices. The remains of a causeway, from
Nineveh to Bavian, were traced upon the plain.

[Illustration: FOUNTAIN AT BAVIAN.]

(Concluded next month.)



Two young girls were seated in the drawing-room of a handsome house in
the neighborhood of Belgrave Square, engaged in earnest conversation.
Of them it might truly be said, in the words of Lord Byron, that

    "Both were young, and one was beautiful."

Nature had been a lavish benefactress to the one, and a churlish
niggard to the other; and Fortune had followed in her sister's wake,
and shown just as great an amount of partiality in the distribution
of her favors. Philippa Roxby and Janet Penson were the wards of Mr.
Chetwode, a good-natured, warm-hearted man, who, having no wife,
child, or sister of his own, was expected by the little world of his
acquaintance to take unlimited interest in the wives, children, and
sisters of other people, and to perform unlimited services in their
behalf. About a year had elapsed since the death of two of his friends
within a few weeks of each other; the wealthy widower, Mr. Roxby,
and the narrowly-jointured widow, Mrs. Penson, conferred on him the
somewhat startling responsibility of becoming guardian to two girls of
the respective ages of eighteen and nineteen.

Philippa Roxby was "a lass wi' golden dower and golden hair," beautiful
enough to inspire a poet or painter, and rich enough to satisfy the
calculations of the most scheming of heiress-hunters. Janet Penson
was remarkably plain; in fact, it would have been somewhat difficult,
in this age of bright eyes, luxuriant tresses, and graceful forms,
to find any one so, thoroughly destitute of attraction. Her features
were irregular; her pale cheek and heavy eye indicated the want of
that health which, when combined with youth and cheerfulness, may be
said to offer a tolerable substitute for beauty; and worse than all,
Janet was palpably deformed, beyond the power of Amesbury to remedy, or
of Mrs. Geary to conceal. Perhaps some of my readers will think that
the worst still remains to be told, when I add that Janet's fortune
was very small; two-thirds of the income of Mrs. Penson expired with
her, and a hundred a year was all that remained for the provision of
the orphan. Mr. Chetwode, however, was as kind and feeling a man as
the most enthusiastic of his friends believed him to be. He made no
distinction in his manner between the lovely heiress and her less
fortunate companion; the comforts of his house, his carriage, his
attentive servants, his pleasant circle of visitors, extended alike
to each; but how different were their thoughts and feelings! The one
looked at society through a Claude Lorraine glass, the other through a
screen of dark crape. Janet, although all immediately connected with
her were kind and considerate, had often the trial of encountering,
in mixed company, the look of ridicule and the whisper of scorn; she
pined for the fond and dear mother by whom she was so tenderly beloved,
notwithstanding her personal deficiencies; nor could she, like most
young women, suffering under a similar loss, anticipate the time when
she should become the object of a still more precious and valuable
love; she felt, bitterly felt, that the delight of a calm home, the
language of loving eyes, the homage of a true heart--all must be ever
withheld from her; and could she only have possessed "the fortune of
a face," there was no possible amount of poverty and hardship which
she would not have gladly welcomed as its accompaniment. She was,
however, agreeably surprised in the character and manners of her
constant associate, Philippa Roxby; she had pictured her as scornful
and repelling, and found her unassuming and kind-hearted. I am of
opinion that people in general treat heiresses with a great deal of
injustice; dramatists and novelists are especially fond of showing them
up in an unamiable light; but, so far as my knowledge of them goes, it
is greatly in their favor. Philippa Roxby (and I am disposed to think
she was a tolerably fair specimen of the generality of heiresses) was
pleasing and unaffected in her manners, and remarkably simple in her
tastes. Accustomed from childhood to an elegantly supplied table, she
felt an indifference to luxuries which can never be known by those who
manufacture their dainties with their own hands, and pay for them from
their own scanty purses; she had never been obliged to economize in
dress, therefore did not, like many young persons, live in a world of
shreds and patches, and pant with perpetual eagerness to unravel the
ever-recurring mystery of the "last new fashion;" all such matters she
wisely left to Fashion's high priestess, the milliner. She drew, sang,
and played well, and perfectly understood French, Italian, and German:
but these acquirements inspired her with no vanity; she felt that,
having had from an early age the most accomplished of governesses, and
the best of masters, it would have been very inexcusable if she had not
profited by their instructions.

Praise be to the first pastrycook who discovered the important fact
that giving novices the unlimited range of the tarts and cakes for a
few days is the certain way to insure their subsequent temperance!
Philippa had enjoyed the sugarplums and confections of society
without restriction, and rated them at their real value. When first
introduced to Janet, she felt considerably disappointed; she had hoped
(for she was incapable of envy) that her companion would have been
still livelier and more attractive than herself; but faithful to her
habit of always looking on the sunny side of a question, she soon
took warm interest in the poor, timid, sorrowful girl who felt such
warm gratitude for her kindness. She cheered her with smiles and kind
words, divided with her the fruits and flowers presented to her by her
suitors, and was even anxious to divide with her their attentions;
for soft looks and flattering speeches were so liberally bestowed on
Philippa, that she did not prize them as those do to whom they are
seldom and sparingly administered. Few men, however, are willing to
be transferred on loan to a young lady of crippled proportions and
stunted fortune; and poor Janet was compelled to sustain a great deal
of rudeness and inattention from the lords of the creation, and indeed
only met with kindness and civility from one of them--the handsome and
intellectual Heathcote, of whom more anon.

I will now return to the point at which my story began. It was the
morning of St. Valentine's Day, that strange, mysterious day, when men
go out of their national character, become tender, sentimental, and
manœuvring, purchase exquisite sheets of paper embellished with wreaths
of flowers, write love verses on them in a studiously neat, prim hand,
seal them with a fanciful device, and drop them into a post-office a
mile or two from their own residence. Philippa was seated at a small
table covered with these little fanciful productions, some of which
were yet unopened; she was laughing in the exuberance of youthful
spirits at the hyperbole contained in one of them.

"And yet, Philippa," said Janet, "I could almost feel disposed to envy
you even for such light-passing tokens of admiration as are now lying
before you; it is hard, in the very spring of youth, to feel one's self
quite slighted and forgotten."

"Dear Janet," said the heiress good-humoredly, "can you really attach
any importance to such a graceful gallantry of society as a valentine?
Depend upon it, the greater number of those who send them do it merely
in observance of the courteous custom of the day, and forget, in the
formal realities of the next morning, the fascinations of the goddess
whom they have so recently deified in poetry, or I should rather say in

"Perhaps it may be so," replied Janet; "but at all events you occupied
the thoughts of these your admirers at the time that they were writing
the verses that you estimate so lightly. I can never hope even for a
moment to awaken a fond and favorable thought; I must pass through life
unnoticed, even in playfulness, unregarded by all; or, still worse,
regarded with pitying scorn."

"Why do you indulge this morbid sensibility, my poor Janet?" said
Philippa. "You will be sure to be valued in time by those who discover
your many and rare excellences. What does the delightful Frederika
Bremer say on this subject? There is in the world so much talent, so
much ingenuity, prudence, wit, genius; but goodness--pure, simple,
divine goodness--where is it to be found?'"

"That is the sentiment of a woman, Philippa," replied Janet; "you would
never find a man capable of so pure and delicate a feeling, not even
our favorite Heathcote; by the way, is Heathcote among your poetical
admirers of to-day?"

"I have not yet met with anything half dignified and sensible enough to
come from such a quarter," said Philippa, scrutinizing, as she spoke,
the varying countenance of her friend. "You speak of Heathcote as our
favorite, Janet; but I am inclined to suspect that he occupies a much
more considerable portion of your thoughts than he does of mine."

Philippa was right in her conjecture; the poor little unsightly Janet
had dared to love the handsome and popular Heathcote, but it was in
silence, in secret, in tears, in humility; not only did she forbear
imparting her love to others, but she scarcely dared to own it even to
herself. The poet says that

    "Love will hope where Reason would despair:"

but Janet had so much reason, and despaired so wholly and thoroughly,
that her love was unvisited by a single ray of hope. True, Heathcote
was kind and gentle to her; but so he was to every one. True, he came
frequently to the house; but was that surprising when it was the
residence of one so fair, so charming, so gifted in every respect as
Philippa? Suddenly Philippa uttered an exclamation of delight as she
opened a fresh valentine; a little case was inclosed within it, on the
outside of which was written "Portrait of my beloved." Philippa lifted
the lid, and beheld--her own beautiful features in a looking-glass!

"This must be Heathcote's simple and feeling way of avowing his
passion," said Janet, with a half-suppressed sigh.

"My dear girl," said Philippa, "who ever talks of simple and feeling
ways of avowing a passion in these days of sophistication? and why will
you persist in imagining Heathcote to be my admirer?"

"If he is not now," said Janet, "I think he can hardly fail to be."

"Do not give yourself any uneasiness on that account, Janet," answered
the heiress, half in jest and half in earnest; "if you feel any
preference for Heathcote, I will most cheerfully make over to you
all my right and title to him. I have given away my heart in another
direction, and fancy that I have gained a heart in exchange."

"Of that," said Janet, with a sad smile, "I think there can be little
doubt; but who is the happy man who I conclude has been the donor of
your pretty portrait?"

Janet felt no surprise when her friend mentioned the name of Captain
Warrington, for she knew him to be warmly attached to Philippa; he was
good-looking, good-humored, and agreeable; and although his position in
society and his fortune were both inferior to Mr. Chetwode's ambitious
views for his beautiful ward, Janet foresaw no difficulties in their
wooing, which the perseverance and courage of Philippa, and the good
sense and kindness of her guardian, would not in a short time clear
away. Luncheon was now announced, and Janet felt that she should be
glad when the day was at an end, the recurrence of which was one of
the many ways of bringing to her mind the fact that she was considered
by general consent to stand apart from others of her age and sex, and
that an avowal of love was never destined to reach her eye even in the
masquerade trappings of a valentine.

A few hours afterwards Janet was quietly reading in her chamber, when
a letter was brought to her. In these days of cheap postage, when
letters descend in a shower on most of us, and in an avalanche on many,
it may seem strange to say that merely receiving a letter could be
anything but a very commonplace event. Poor Janet, however, had passed
her blighted youth in the strictest seclusion, and the half-dozen
friends who had known her mother in the retired country place where
she vegetated, wrote to her at distant intervals, and the handwriting
of each of them was so familiar to her eye, that she was certain her
present correspondent was not among them.

Janet had no young friends, no admirers, no debts, no duns; she was
poor, and the begging-letter writers spared her; she had never worked
for fancy fairs, nor written for albums, nor subscribed to public
charities; it was not in her power to confer a favor on anybody, and
people thus situated escape a vast influx of correspondence. The letter
had been posted in a neighboring street; the direction was written in
an evidently feigned hand, and the seal bore the simple impression of a
flower. Janet opened it with a kind of vague feeling that some mystery
clung about it. Little did she dream of the good fortune that awaited
her. The inclosed sheet of paper was a valentine! It boasted of no
flowers, cupids, hearts, or darts; it was superscribed "A Valentine to
be read when the others are forgotten."

Delightful phrase! not only was she deemed worthy of receiving a
valentine, but the writer evidently considered that she had received
others! The charm, however, of this valentine did not consist in the
heading, nor even in the love-breathing stanzas that followed; but in
the handwriting. It was unquestionably, unmistakably, the handwriting
of Heathcote! There was a peculiarity in the formation of the letters
that Janet had more than once remarked to Philippa, when he had written
notes on some trifling subject to their guardian or themselves. There
was no attempt to disguise the hand--no attempt to disguise the
feelings. These were the words that electrified poor Janet, or perhaps
I should say "mesmerized" her; for she certainly seemed translated to
a very different kind of existence from that of the everyday world,
dull and vexatious occasionally to all of us, but invariably dull and
vexatious to her.

    St. Valentine returns--the pleasant time
      Of opening verdure and of singing birds
    Noted for mystic fantasies in rhyme,
      Where gay devices, mingled with soft words,
    To many a blushing ladye-love impart
    The feelings of her timid lover's heart.

    Beneath St. Valentine's protecting shroud,
      Lady, I dare thy favor to beseech;
    I am at once too humble and too proud
      To woo thee in a fluent form of speech;
    Methinks my trembling spirit could not brook
    Thy cold rejoinder, or thy grave rebuke.

    Therefore, my deep and never-changing love
      Pours forth its ardor in this veiled disguise;
    Shouldst thou my passion scorn or disapprove,
      Meet me with distant look and frigid eyes;
    I will abide by that denial mute,
    As though the voice of worlds forbade my suit.

    But if thy heart of kindred love should tell,
      Let warm inspiring smiles thy thoughts express;
    Then shall this scroll have done its bidding well,
      And my freed tongue shall joyously confess
    How first I strove to win thy faith to mine,
    In the quaint fashion of St. Valentine!

Janet felt much as Cinderella may be supposed to have done when her
fairy godmother converted her ragged attire into a splendid gala-dress.
Life in a moment seemed changed to her view; all misanthropic fancies,
all gloomy forebodings took flight; she was ready to exclaim, in the
words of the song,

    "This world is a beautiful world after all!"

Away with all feelings of jealous longing to share the advantages of
other women! With whom would she now change? Had she not, misshapen
and unlovely as she was, achieved the conquest of one who had long
appeared, in her eyes, as the most perfect of human beings? How often
had she fondly wished to possess the beautiful features and graceful
form of Philippa, and yet Philippa had merely won the homage of gay,
fashionable triflers, while she had received a declaration of affection
from one so dear to her, that if she had been endowed with the most
brilliant loveliness, and the most lavish wealth, she would have
wished, like Portia, to be for his sake

    "A thousand times more fair--ten thousand times more rich!"

These raptures may appear to our readers rather beyond what can be
justified by the receipt of a valentine; but be it remembered that
it was not in the style of a common valentine, that Heathcote was
not a common character, and that poor Janet had never received even
the slightest token of admiration before that eventful fourteenth of
February. Martin Farquhar Tupper says, in his "Proverbial Philosophy,"

    "It is a holy thirst to long for Love's requital;
    Hard it will be, hard and sad, to love and be unloved;
    And many a thorn is thrust into the side of one that is forgotten."

If such, then, be the suffering of the neglected, what must be the
delight of feeling the long-borne load suddenly removed from the heart!

Janet, after enjoying her newly-found happiness in solitude for
some time, sought her friend Philippa, who kindly congratulated her
on her acquisition, and reminded her how often she had told her that
she greatly exaggerated the neglect and unkindness of the world; but
Philippa would not be persuaded into thinking that a valentine was at
all equivalent to a promise of marriage, or even to a declaration of

"You will know better in a little while, Janet," she said kindly; "but
at present I cannot prevail upon myself to damp your happiness; you are
looking cheerful, and hopeful for the first time in your life."

Happy indeed was that day to Janet; and the ensuing one was no less
so. Heathcote and a few other friends dined with Mr. Chetwode, and
in the evening he entered the drawing-room shortly after Captain
Warrington, who had seated himself between the two young ladies, and
was discoursing to Philippa in a low voice on the subject of valentines
in general, and doubtless one valentine in particular. Heathcote took
a chair by the side of Janet: her heart throbbed violently at his
approach, but Janet's eyes and complexion were not of the sort to
betray sudden emotion, and no alteration was visible in her usually
quiet, and somewhat dull demeanor.

"You will pardon the question I am about to ask, Miss Penson," said
Heathcote, catching a few words of the conversation between Philippa
and her admirer; "but for the first time in my life I have been
endeavoring to perpetrate poetry, and have had the presumption to send
my humble attempt to this house, taking advantage of an occasion when
even the most inexperienced rhymster may anticipate merciful criticism.
May I hope that my offering has not offended?"

Janet felt for a moment unable to reply, but her good sense suggested
to her that none but beauties are privileged to be coquettish and
tormenting; therefore she promptly replied--

"It has not offended."

"Dear Miss Penson," exclaimed Heathcote, fixing on her his dark,
sparkling eyes, full of pleasure and gratitude, "how kind and amiable
it is of you thus speedily to relieve my anxiety; but we shall soon be
interrupted. I see that the piano has just been opened: one word more,
and pardon me if it seems abrupt. I have hitherto visited occasionally
at this house; will it be considered intrusive if my visits become more

"I am sure," said Janet, again exerting herself to speak calmly and
distinctly, "that your visits here will always be welcome to my
guardian--to Philippa;" and after a moment's pause she added, "and to

Heathcote had only time to thank her, by another of those brief, bright
glances, so precious in her eyes, when she was summoned to the piano
to play the accompaniment to a new ballad, delightfully warbled by
Philippa, and she was gratified to observe that Heathcote followed her,
and kept his post by the instrument during the greater part of the

Happy was the little party of lovers during the next fortnight. Captain
Warrington and Heathcote were constantly at Mr. Chetwode's house,
constantly accompanying Philippa and Janet in walks, drives, and visits
to morning exhibitions. No young persons ever enjoyed their own way
more than the wards of Mr. Chetwode. He had a decided aversion to the
idea of a _dame de compagnie_ in the house; consequently, although
the wife of one of his friends always chaperoned Philippa and Janet
in society, their mornings were entirely at their own disposal. Mr.
Chetwode spent the greater part of every day comfortably ensconced in
his luxurious easy-chair at the club, wielding a paper-knife in one
hand, and holding a new review, magazine, or pamphlet, in the other;
and if he thought at all about his wards, he concluded them to be
occupied in netting purses, watering geraniums, petting canaries, or
reading "The Queens of England."

At the end of the fortnight, the member of the party whom my readers
will conclude to be the happiest began to feel somewhat anxious,
nervous, and discontented. Poor Janet, although the most humble-minded
of living creatures, felt greatly mortified that her intimacy with
Heathcote did not seem in the slightest manner to progress; he was
still kind, courteous, and considerate to her, as he had ever been,
but nothing more. She had given him every encouragement that he could
expect, but he did not fulfil the promises of his poetry; he never
uttered a word that could even be construed into "talking near" the
subject of love. Janet mentioned this apparent inconsistency to

"Did I not warn you, dear Janet," said her friend, laughingly, "that
you were affixing too much importance to a trifle? You should not
expect an admirer to fulfil all the promises of a valentine; you might
as reasonably expect a member of Parliament to fulfil the promises that
he had made during his canvass."

Janet, however, would not allow her faith in valentines to be weakened;
she put her own construction on the coolness of Heathcote, and a very
painful construction it was. She thought that although for a time his
approbation of her mind and manners had overcome his distaste to
her personal appearance, the latter feeling was gaining ground upon
him, and that he was unable to love her, and ashamed to introduce
her to the world as the object of his choice. "I will give him back
his faith," thought poor Janet, little surmising how she would be
wondered at in society for talking of giving back the faith of a
valentine. Before Janet could give Heathcote back his faith, he was
summoned into Shropshire, to see a married sister who was believed to
be dying; and Janet, instead of pondering over the uncertainty of her
own love-affair, had a different subject for her attention, in watching
the progress of a far more fortunate wooing. Captain Warrington,
by Philippa's permission, had spoken to Mr. Chetwode touching his
affection for his beautiful ward; and Mr. Chetwode, after a slight show
of reluctance, and an ineffectual attempt to induce the young people
to consent to a twelvemonth's engagement, had suffered himself to be
persuaded into a promise that he would give the bride away whenever she
chose to call upon him to do so.

Mr. Chetwode was a very reasonable guardian; he did not insist on
sacrificing his ward to a citizen whose money-bags outweighed his own;
or to a patrician, whose "face, like his family, was wonderfully old."

All went on smoothly and satisfactorily; the lawyers were busy with the
settlements, and Philippa busy with the choice of her wedding-dresses.
But Janet was not without a little gleam of comfort on her own account.

Heathcote had written to Mr. Chetwode. "My sister," he wrote, "I am
most thankful to say, is almost convalescent, and in a little while
I shall venture to tell her of an important step in life that I
contemplate taking. I shall then fly back on the wings of impatience
to London, and need scarcely say that my first visit will be to your

Mr. Chetwode read aloud Heathcote's letter at the breakfast-table,
but made no comment on the sentence in question. Janet placed her own
construction on it; she thought that Heathcote, unlike men in general,
was a much more ardent lover when absent than when present, because he
did justice to the qualities of her mind, but disliked her personal
appearance. Moore says of the heroine of one of his sweet melodies--

    "She looked in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses,
    Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two."

But Janet "looked in the glass" not with any pleasurable sensations;
she came to the conclusion that she grew plainer every day, and she
anticipated Heathcote's return with as much fear as hope. One morning
Janet was sitting alone in the drawing-room, and felt remarkably
nervous and depressed. "Are there such things as presentiments of
evil?" she thought; but her previous anticipations were changed into
joyous realities when Heathcote was announced. She started up to greet
him, but appearing not to notice her outstretched hand, he threw
himself into a chair: she thought him very much out of spirits; an
indifferent person would have thought him very much out of temper.

"Your sister, I trust, is not worse," said Janet, timidly.

"She is almost well again," he replied impatiently; "but, had I been
aware of what has just been told me, I do not think I should have
troubled myself to visit London."

"What has been told you?" gasped the agitated Janet; "you alarm me by
your vehemence."

"I have been told," he said, directing a searching glance at her,
"that I have a favored rival, who not only has taken advantage of my
absence from London to press his suit, but has succeeded in obtaining
a propitious answer to it."

How did Janet's heart beat with rapture! "Heathcote's love for her
could not now be doubted; he had love enough to be jealous; his anxious
misgivings should immediately be removed; he should be told that her
love was for him alone."

"You have been deceived, indeed you have been deceived," she exclaimed;
"no rival is in the case; you cannot love with greater sincerity and
truth than you are loved in return."

"Dear Miss Penson," cried Heathcote, taking her hand, "how can I thank
you sufficiently for having so promptly relieved my mind from its
groundless suspicions? My sister is prepared to welcome and to value
the object of my choice. I begin to fancy myself almost too happy; but
I do not see Philippa, and am quite impatient for an interview."

Again was Janet perplexed by the conduct of her lover. Why should he
speak of her friend as "Philippa," while he addressed herself as "Miss
Penson?" Why should he seem anxious for the entrance of Philippa, while
enjoying what ought to be the perfection of happiness to a lover--a
_tête-à-tête_ with his beloved one?

Even the most humble-minded of women can feel and resent a palpable
slight; and it was with some little dignity that Janet replied, "Miss
Roxby is not at home at present; Captain Warrington has accompanied her
to the jeweller's; the wedding is fixed for this day fortnight, and
she is of course so much engaged that I cannot expect to enjoy a great
deal of her society."

Heathcote seemed quite transfixed by this simple speech. "Philippa's
wedding-day fixed!" he exclaimed angrily; "then you have been cruelly
trifling with my feelings, Miss Penson. Why did you tell me that I had
no rival? Why did you cheat me into a few minutes of happiness only to
give me deeper and more poignant misery?"

"I do not understand you," said Janet. "I feel bewildered and confused;
what power can Philippa's engagement have to affect your tranquillity?
You asked me if I had encouraged a rival in your absence, and I
candidly told you that my heart was all your own."

"You!" exclaimed Heathcote, fixing on her a look of astonished
contempt, as if he thought her a fitting inmate for a lunatic asylum.
"If you are jesting, Miss Penson, you have chosen a very inappropriate
time for it; if you are in earnest, I scarcely know whether to regard
with the more pity or anger the absurd vanity which can have led you to
construe common civilities into individual attachment."

"Your attentions exceeded common civilities," faltered the unhappy
Janet, as she mentally repeated some of the soft passages of the

"In your opinion, perhaps they might," said Heathcote, with an
expression of countenance somewhat closely bordering on a sneer; "your
personal drawbacks have doubtless been the cause of obtaining for you
the frequent neglect of the coarse and unfeeling. I certainly, however,
could never have deemed it possible that you could have supposed
yourself likely to inspire passion in my heart, or in that of any other
man, especially by the side of the brilliant and fascinating Philippa
Roxby. I have serious trouble enough in losing her, without this
ridiculous and provoking misunderstanding. I advise you never to expose
yourself to sarcasm by making public to the world your unreasonable
expectations; and, for my part, I am willing to promise to be equally
silent on the subject: let us both endeavor to forget the untoward
conversation of this morning."

Heathcote's injunctions of secrecy and promise to be secret were
rendered unavailing, for Mr. Chetwode, who had entered unperceived, had
been the astonished auditor of his last speech. Heathcote, with the
instinctive dislike that all selfish men feel to the idea of "a scene,"
uttered a few hasty words of apology to Mr. Chetwode, and made a
speedy escape, while the astonished guardian took a seat near Janet in
silence: he felt hurt and annoyed; no one likes to meet with vexations
that they have not anticipated, and certainly Mr. Chetwode had never
dreamed that his poor little ward, Janet, would give him any trouble
about her love affairs.

"My dear Janet," he said at length, "I gather from the few words that
I heard on entering the room, that you have construed some slight
civilities, shown you by Mr. Heathcote, into proofs of a serious
attachment. I am sorry and also surprised that you should have fallen
under such a misapprehension; for it was quite evident to me, and to
many others, that Mr. Heathcote was an admirer of Philippa."

Janet removed her hands from her face, and steadily met the glance of
her guardian. "I assure you," she said, "that I have received more than
slight attentions from Mr. Heathcote; Philippa is aware of it, and
there has never been any feeling of rivalry between us; he declared his
affection for me some weeks ago."

Mr. Chetwode could not avoid giving rather a discourteous start of
amazement; but quickly remembering the proverb, that "there is no
accounting for tastes," he said, in a kinder tone of voice, "And how
did he make this avowal to you, my dear?"

"By letter," replied Janet.

Mr. Chetwode began to feel exceedingly indignant with Heathcote.
To write a declaration of love to a young lady, and then, without
assigning any reason for his conduct, to break faith with her, was, he
justly thought, highly blamable under any circumstances, and peculiarly
mysterious under those of poor Janet, since a lover who could once
forget her personal disadvantages must be very much in love indeed,
and could not have the shadow of an excuse for changing his mind
afterwards, as the qualities of her mind and temper were such as to
improve upon acquaintance. "Have you any objection, Janet," he said,
"to show me this letter?"

"It is not a letter," faltered Janet, "it is a copy of verses."

Mr. Chetwode hastily rose from his chair, and walked up and down the
room as an escape-valve for his irritation. He could not bring himself
to say a harsh word to the suffering girl before him, but he felt
thoroughly provoked with her. Mr. Chetwode was an essentially prosaic,
matter-of-fact man, and had once seriously offended a young poet of
his acquaintance by averring that he considered poetry "as a cramp way
of people saying what they wanted to say!" He controlled, however, his
inclination to be very bitter and caustic on the occasion, and merely
said, "Your inexperience, my poor Janet, has wofully misled you; young
men present copies of verses as they do boxes of _bon-bons_ to several
of their lady friends in succession, and mean no more by the one trifle
than the other; endeavor, my dear, to forget the past, and resolve to
be more wise in future."

Thus saying, Mr. Chetwode left the room, went to his club, and after
remaining there an hour, took a few turns in St. James's-park, where
he was somewhat annoyed to encounter Heathcote. He had, however, no
opportunity of escaping him; for Heathcote, who felt a little ashamed
of his recent behavior, joined him, and made some inquiries respecting
Philippa, lamenting his own ill-fortune in not having been able to make
himself acceptable to her.

"Philippa has chosen for herself," replied Mr. Chetwode, somewhat
coldly, "and I see no reason to object to her choice. I am sorry,
Mr. Heathcote, that you should have considered yourself obliged to
make love to both my wards. I do not attach any importance to such a
trifle as a copy of verses; but poor Janet, who has, as you may easily
conclude, been unused to the slightest attention, actually considered
that you were making an offer of your heart in rhyme, and has sadly
felt the disappointment of her hopes."

"Write verses to Miss Penson!" repeated Heathcote, in a half-derisive,
half-astonished tone; "I never did such a thing, never dreamed of doing
it; whoever told you so, my dear sir, has most grossly deceived you."

"I heard it," replied Mr. Chetwode angrily, "from the lips of one whose
truth has never been doubted--from poor Janet herself."

"I can only repeat my asseveration," said Heathcote, "and am ready to
do it in the presence of Miss Penson, of whose truthfulness I must beg
to entertain a less favorable opinion than you seem to do; perhaps,
however, some one has been sporting with her vanity, by writing verses
to her in my name, in which case she is to be pitied."

"Perhaps so," said Mr. Chetwode, thoughtfully. And he parted from
Heathcote, and pursued his way home.

Janet was in her own chamber, but he sent to desire her presence.

"I am very much inclined, my poor girl," he said kindly, "from some
hints which have been given to me, to surmise that the verses to which
you allude were not sent to you by Heathcote, but by some one who
successfully imitated his hand."

"You are wrong, dear sir," replied Janet; "not only were the verses
unquestionably in the hand-writing of Heathcote, but he alluded to
them the next day in conversation with me, and expressed his hope that
they had not given offence."

"And yet, Janet," said her guardian, fixing his eyes sternly on her,
"it is from Heathcote himself that I have just heard the suggestion
that his hand-writing has been counterfeited; he most strongly and
utterly denies that he has ever written verses to you."

"I am concerned," said Janet, "that Heathcote should show himself
not only deficient in honor and kindness, but in common truth and
honesty. You, however, my dear sir, who have so long known me, will
not, I am sure, feel a moment's hesitation in believing my statement in
preference to his."

Mr. Chetwode did not speak, but he regarded Janet with a look by no
means indicative of the perfect trust which she had anticipated. She
burst into tears.

At this moment Philippa entered, radiant with beauty, health, and
happiness, having just parted from her lover at the door. She stood
astonished at the scene that met her eyes.

"Philippa," said Mr. Chetwode, gravely, "you will be sorry to hear
that you must either think very ill of a favorite friend, or of a
pleasant acquaintance. A circumstance has arisen, trifling in itself,
but involving the veracity either of Janet or of Heathcote; she avers
that a few weeks ago he wrote verses to her, containing a declaration
of love; he denies that he did any such thing."

Philippa turned very pale, and sat down in silence.

"On what occasion were these verses written?" said Mr. Chetwode,
turning to Janet with a predetermined air of disbelief in the reality
of them.

"They were entitled," said Janet, "'A valentine, to be read when the
others are forgotten.'"

"A valentine!" repeated Mr. Chetwode, indignantly; "and is it possible
that the verses of which you speak as containing an avowal of
affection, almost amounting to a promise of marriage, were nothing but
a valentine? and have I been induced, by your misrepresentations, to
reprove and lecture a young man for adding one to the many chartered
blockheads who commit fooleries to paper on Valentine's Day? I no
longer doubt your truth, Janet; but I have serious doubts of your
sanity. You, Philippa, also," he added, turning to her, "have been much
to blame; you know more of the world than Janet; why did you let her
make herself so ridiculous as she has been pleased to do?"

"Do not censure Philippa," said Janet; "my sorrows have been all of
my own making: she repeatedly told me that I affixed far too much
consequence to so trifling a mark of attention as a valentine."

"Dearest Janet, forgive me," cried Philippa, in much agitation; "I will
make now, in the presence of our guardian, a confession that I ought to
have made before. I have been acting as your enemy, when my only wish
was to be your friend. You remember our conversation on Valentine's
Day. When I repaired to my dressing-room after luncheon, I perceived
that one of my valentines was unopened; I broke the seal, the writing
within was in the hand of Heathcote; and without even reading it, I
inclosed it in a blank envelop, directed it to you, and put it into the
post that morning. I wished to give you a few minutes' pleasure, and
to prove to you that you were not quite forgotten. I knew Heathcote to
be a favorite with you, and imagined that you would be gratified by
his attention. When you brought the verses, and read them to me, I was
surprised at their warmth and earnestness, and repented of what I had
done, and I have repented more and more ever since."

"And those verses were never intended for me!" exclaimed the weeping
Janet. "Heathcote never felt a moment's preference for me! Oh,
Philippa! I know you intended kindness to me, but this was cruel

And poor Janet now indeed felt the cope-stone placed on her
humiliation; she would have much rather believed Heathcote to be fickle
and inconstant, than have discovered that he had never loved her at
all. She pressed Philippa's hand, however, in token of forgiveness, and
left the room; and the bride elect, for the first time in her life,
was called upon to listen to a lecture from her guardian, beginning
with some strictures on her own officious folly, continuing with a
few allusions to the vanity and blindness of her friend Janet, and
concluding with an earnestly expressed hope that none of his friends
would ever place a young lady under his guardianship again!

Philippa's wedding-day arrived. Janet was present at it, not as a
bridesmaid, for she had refused to spoil the group of beautiful girls
who appeared in that character by joining them--she was plainly and
quietly dressed; none among the brilliant assemblage prayed more
fervently than she did for the happiness of Philippa; but her cheek
grew paler than ever, and her tears fell fast, as she listened to the
solemn ceremony, feeling that similar vows could never be plighted to
herself, and that domestic happiness was as much beyond her reach as
if she had been a being of another sphere. She left London on that day
to return to the village where her mother died, and where she took
up her residence with an old friend, with whom she had previously
communicated by letter.

Almost a year has elapsed since that time: she is calm and composed,
but her spirits have never recovered the severe shock that they have
sustained; she feels that for a short time she was living in an unreal
region, and her violent descent to earth has humbled and bewildered
her. Had she never been led to fancy that she was an object of
tenderness and affection, her good sense would in time have reconciled
her to the disadvantages under which she labored; but the fitful light
thrown across her path only served to make the darkness more unbearable
when it was withdrawn. Mr. Chetwode and Philippa have each requested
her to visit them, but she has resolutely excused herself from again
joining a world for which she feels herself alike unfitted in person
and in spirit.

The marriage of Philippa and Captain Warrington has, to use the words
of Theodore Hook, produced as much "happiness for two" as the world
can be expected to give. Philippa is as charming as ever, and in one
respect her character has materially improved. Formerly, Philippa,
partly from good-nature, and partly from a wish to be universally
popular, was very much in the habit of saying things to her friends
that were more pleasant than true; she would tell fourth-rate
poetasters that everybody was in raptures with their genius; she would
assure mothers that their sickly pedantic prodigies were extolled
in every circle; and she would protest to faded spinsters that the
gentlemen declared them to be handsomer than they were a dozen years
ago. Now, however, Philippa, although still kind and courteous, is as
particular in the veracity of her civil speeches as if she had studied
Mrs. Opie's "Illustrations of Lying" for the last five years: and
all are delighted to obtain her praise, because all feel that she is
sincere in bestowing it.

One day her husband found her in tears, and anxiously inquired the
reason of her sorrow.

"It will soon pass away," she said; "but I have just been thinking with
grief and repentance of a very faulty action in my life, although you,
to console me, are in the habit of calling it an amiable weakness. I
allude to my unjustifiable imposition on poor Janet; the present day
causes it to recur most forcibly to my mind--it is the anniversary of



"I don't believe it," said my cousin Ned, who was passing his college
vacation at our house, and there was a world of unwritten scepticism in
the air with which he dashed down the paper over whose damp columns his
eyes had been travelling for the previous half hour.

"You see, Cousin Nelly," continued Ned, getting up and pacing the long
old-fashioned parlor with quick, nervous strides, "it's all sheer
nonsense to talk about these doors in every human heart. It sounds very
pretty and pathetic in a story, I'll admit; but so do a great many
other things which reason and actual experience entirely repudiate.
There are hearts--alas! that their name should be legion--where 'far
away up' there is no door to be opened, and 'far away down' are no
deeps to be fathomed. Now don't, Cousin Nelly, level another such
rebuking glance at me from those brown eyes, for I have just thought of
a case illustrative of my theory. Don't you remember Miss Stebbins, the
old maid, who lived at the foot of the hill, and how I picked a rose
for you one morning which had climbed over her fence into the road, and
so, of course, became 'public property?' Faugh! I shall never forget
the tones of the virago's voice, or the scowl on her forehead as she
sallied out of the front door and shook her hand at me. A woman who
could refuse a half withered flower to a little child, I wonder that
roses could blossom on her soil! At the 'smiting of the rod,' no waters
could flow out of such a granite heart. In the moral desert of such a
character, no fertilizing stream can make its way."

I did not answer Cousin Ned's earnest, eloquent tones, for just then
there was the low rap of visitors at the parlor door; but I have always
thought there was a good angel in the room while he was speaking, and
that it flew straight to Miss Stebbins, and looking down, down, very
far down in her heart, he saw a fountain there, rank weeds grew all
around it, the seal of years was on its lip, and the dust of time deep
on the seal; but the angel smiled, as it floated upward and murmured,
"I shall return and remove the seal, and the waters will flow."

       *       *       *       *       *

Stern and grim sat Miss Stebbins at her work, one summer afternoon. The
golden sunshine slept and danced in its play-place in the corner, and
broke into a broad laugh along the ceiling, and a single beam, bolder
than the rest, crept to the hem of Miss Stebbins's gown, and looked up
with a timid, loving smile in her face, such as no human being ever
wore when looking there.

Poor Miss Stebbins! those stern, harsh features only daguerreotyped too
faithfully the desolate, arid heart beneath them; and that heart, with
its dry fountain, was a true type of her life, with the one flower of
human affection which had blossomed many years before along its bleak,
barren highway.

She never seemed to love anybody, unless it was her brother William,
who was a favorite with everybody; but he went to sea, and had never
been heard of since. Sally had always been a stray sheep among the
family; but dark hours, and at last _death_, came upon all the rest,
and so the homestead fell into her hands. Such was the brief verbal
history of Miss Stebbins's life, which I received from Aunt Mary, who
closed it there, in rigid adherence to her favorite maxim, never to
speak evil of her neighbors.

But, that summer afternoon, there came the patter of children's feet
along the gravel-walk which led to Miss Stebbins's front door; and, at
the same moment, the angel with golden-edged wings came down from its
blue-sky home into Miss Stebbins's parlor.

She raised her head and saw them, two weary-looking little children,
with golden hair and blue eyes, standing hand in hand under the little
portico, and then that old termagant scowl darkened her forehead, and
she asked, with a sharp, disagreeable note in her voice, like the raw
breath in the north-east wind--

"Wa-all! I should like to know what you want standing there?"

"Please, ma'am," said the boy, in a timid, entreating voice, which
ought to have found its way straight into any heart, "little sister and
I feel very tired, for we have walked a long way. Will you let us sit
down on the step and rest a little while?"

"No; I can't have children loafing round on my premises," said
Miss Stebbins, with the same vinegar sharpness of tone which had
characterized her preceding reply. Moreover, the sight of any of the
miniature specimens of her race seemed always fated to arouse her
belligerent propensities. "So just take yourselves off; and the
quicker, the better 'twill be for you."

"Don't stay any longer, Willy. I am afraid," whispered the little girl,
with a tremor rippling through her voice, as she pulled significantly
at her brother's coat sleeve.

"Willy! Willy! That was your brother's name; don't you remember?" the
angel bent down and whispered very softly in the harsh woman's ear; and
all the time his hand was gliding down, down in her heart, searching
for that hidden fountain. "You must have been just about that little
girl's age when you and he used to go trudging down into the meadows
together to find sweet flagroot. And you used to keep tight hold of
his hand, just as she does. Oh, how tired you used to get! Don't you
remember that old brown house, where nobody lived but starved rats and
a swarm of wasps, who made their nest there in the summer-time? And you
used to sit down on the old step, which the worms had eaten in so many
places, and rest there. How he loved you! and how careful he was always
to give you the best seat! and, then, he never spoke one cross word
to you, if everybody else did. Now, if you should let those children
sit down and rest, just as you and Willy did on the old brown step,
you could keep a sharp eye on them, to see they didn't get into any

The angel must have said all this in a very little time, for the
children had only reached the gravel-walk again, when Miss Stebbins
called out to them; and, this time, that spiteful little note in her
voice was not quite so prominent--

"Here, you may sit right down on that corner a little while; but, mind
you, don't stir; for, if you do, you'll have to budge."

"Little sister," said the boy, in a low tone, after they were seated,
"lay your head here, and try to go to sleep."

The little girl laid her head, with its shower of golden bright curls,
on her brother's breast; but, the next moment, she raised it, saying--

"I can't sleep, brother, I'm so thirsty."

"Don't you remember that day you and Willy went into the woods after
blackberries, and how you lost your way groping in the twilight of the
forest?" again whispered the angel, with his hand feeling all the time
for the fountain. "You found an old lightning-blasted tree, and you sat
down on it, and he put his arm round you just so, and said, 'Try and
go to sleep, little sister.' But you couldn't, you were so thirsty;
for you had walked full three miles. Who knows but what those children
have, too?"

There was a little pause after the angel had said this, and then Miss
Stebbins rose up and went into her pantry, where the shelves were all
of immaculate whiteness, and she could see her face in the brightly
scoured tin. She brought out a white pitcher, and, going into the
garden, filled it at the spring. Returning, she poured some of the cool
contents into a cup which stood on the table, and carried it to the
children; and she really held it to the little girl's lips all the time
she was drinking.

Farther and farther down in the heart of the woman crept the hand of
the angel; nearer and nearer to the fountain it drew.

Miss Stebbins went back to her sewing, but, somehow, her fingers did
not fly as nimbly as usual. The memories of bygone years were rising
out of their mouldy sepulchres; but all freshly they came before her,
with none of the grave's rust and dampness upon them.

"That little boy's eyes, when he thanked you for the water, looked just
as Willy's used to," once more whispered the angel, bending down close
to Miss Stebbins's ear. "And his hair looks like Willy's, too, as he
sits there with that sunbeam brightening its gold, and his arm thrown
so lovingly around his sister's waist. There! did you see how wistfully
he looked up at the grapes, whose purple side are turned towards him
as they hang over the portico? How Willy used to love grapes! And how
sweet your bowls of bread and milk used to taste, after one of your
rambles into the woods! If those children have walked as far as you
did--and don't you see the little boy's coat and the little girl's
faded dress are all covered with dust?--they must be very hungry, as
well as tired and thirsty. Don't you remember that apple-pie you baked
this morning? I never saw a pie done to a finer brown in my life. How
sweet it would taste to those little tired things, if they could only
eat a piece here in the parlor, where the flies and the sun wouldn't
keep tormenting them all the time!"

A moment after, Miss Stebbins had stolen with noiseless step to her
pantry, and, cutting out two generous slices from her apple-pie, she
placed them in saucers, returned to the front door, and said to the

"You may come in here, and sit down on the stools by the fire-place and
eat some pie; but you must mind and not drop any crumbs on the floor."

It was very strange, but that old harsh tone had almost left her voice.
The large, tempting slices were placed in the little hands eagerly
lifted up to receive them; and, at that moment, out from the lip of the
fountain, out from the dust which lay heavy upon its seal, there came
a single drop, and it fell down upon Miss Stebbins's heart. It was the
first which had fallen there for years. Ah, the angel had found the
fountain then!

The softened woman went back to her seat, and the angel did not bend
down and whisper in her ear again; but all the time his hand was busy,
very busy at its work.

"Where is your home, children?" inquired Miss Stebbins, after she had
watched for a while, with a new, pleasant enjoyment, the children, as
they dispatched with hungry avidity their pie.

"Mary and I haven't any home now. We had one once before papa died, a
great way over the sea," answered the boy.

"And where are you going now? and what brought you and your little
sister over the sea?" still farther queried the now interested woman.

"Why, you see, ma'am, just before papa died, he called old Tony to
him--now, Tony was black, and always lived with us--'Tony,' said he,
'I am going to die, and you know I have lost everything, and the
children will be all alone in the world. But, Tony, I had a sister once
that I loved, and she loved me; and, though I haven't seen her for a
great many years, still I know she loves me, if she's living, just as
well as she did when she and I used to go hand in hand through the
apple-orchard to school; and, Tony, when I'm dead and buried, I want
you to sell the furniture, and take the money it brings you and carry
the children back to New England. You'll find her name and the place
she used to live in a paper--which anybody'll read for you--in the
drawer there. And, Tony, when you find her, just take Willy and Mary to
her, and tell her I was their father, and that I sent them to her on my
death-bed, and asked her to be a mother to them for my sake. It'll be
enough, Tony, to tell her that.' And Tony cried real loud, and he said,
'Massa, if I forget one word of what you've said, may God forget me.'

"Well, papa died, and, after he was buried, Tony brought little sister
and me over the waters. But, before we got here, Tony was taken sick
with the fever, and he died a little while after the ship reached the
land and they had carried him on shore. But, just before he died, he
called me to him and put a piece of paper in my hand. 'Don't lose it,
Willy,' he said, 'for poor Tony's going, and you'll have to find the
way to your aunt's all alone. The money's all spent, too, and they
say it's a good hundred miles to the place where she lived. But keep
up a good heart, and ask the folks the way, and for something to eat
when you're hungry; and don't walk too many miles a day, 'cause little
sister ain't strong. Perhaps somebody'll help you on with a ride, or
let you sleep in their house nights. Now don't forget, Willy; and shake
hands the last time with poor Tony.'

"After that, we stayed at the inn till the next day, when they buried
Tony; and, when they asked us what we were going to do, we told them we
were going to our aunt's, for papa had sent us to her, and then they
let us go. When we asked folks the way they told us, though they always
stared, and sometimes shook their heads. We got two rides, and always a
good place to sleep. They said our aunt lived round here; but, we got
so tired walking, we had to stop."

"And what was your father's name?" asked Miss Stebbins, and, somehow,
there was a choking in her throat, and the hand of the angel was placed
on the fountain as she spoke.

"William Stebbins; and our aunt's name was Sally Stebbins. Please,
ma'am, do you know her?"

Off, at that moment, came the seal, and out leaped a fresh, blessed
tide of human affection, and fell down upon the barren heart-soil that
grew fertile in a moment.

"William! my brother William!" cried Miss Stebbins, as she sprang
towards the children with outstretched arms and tears raining fast down
her cheeks. "Oh, for your sake, I will be a mother to them!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A year had passed away; college vacation had come again, and once
more Cousin Ned was at our house. In the summer gloaming we went to
walk, and our way lay past Miss Stebbins's cottage. As we drew near
the wicket, the sound of merry child-laughter rippled gleefully to
our ears, and a moment after, from behind that very rose-tree so
disagreeably associated with its owner in Cousin Ned's mind, bounded
two golden-haired children.

"Come, Willy! Mary! you have made wreaths of my roses until they are
wellnigh gone. You must gather violets after this."

"_Mirabile dictu!_" ejaculated Cousin Ned. "Is _that_ the woman who
gave me such a blessing a long time ago for plucking a half withered
rose from that very tree?"

"The very same, Cousin Ned," I answered; and then I told him of
the change which had come over the harsh woman, of her love, her
gentleness, and patience for the orphan children of her brother; and
that, after all, there was a fountain very far down in her heart, as
there surely was in everybody's, if we could only find it.

"Well, Cousin Nelly," said Ned, "I'll agree to become a convert to your
theory without further demurring, if you'll promise to tell me where
to find a hidden fountain that lies very far down in a dear little
somebody's heart, and whose precious waters are gushing only for me."

There was a glance, half arch, half loving, from those dark, handsome
eyes, which made me think Cousin Ned knew he would not have to go very
far to find it.



THE PROCESS OF FERTILIZATION.--All organic beings, animals, and plants
reproduce themselves by means of fecundated germs, which we call
embryos. The embryos of plants form in a particular organ called an
ovule, and the matter which fecundates them is termed pollen.

The character of an embryo in organic beings is that it contains, in
a rudimentary state, all the organs of which the organic being is
composed in its entire developments. Thus, in the animal, the uterine
fœtus is composed of the head, the trunk, and the extremities; in other
words, of all the parts of which the adult animal is composed. In like
manner, the embryos of plants, like those of animals, contain all
the parts which compose the fabric of the fully developed plant in a
rudimentary condition. The embryo of a bean, for example, consists of a
plumule or young stem, a pair of leaves or cotyledons, and a radicle or
young root, or the entire plant in a rudimentary state; and, by the act
of germination, analogous in its effects to the commencement of life in
the extra-uterine fœtus, all the parts of the plant develop themselves
into their wonted figure and hues, in accordance with those _peculiar_
organic laws to which the plant is subjected. But germination does not
increase the number of these parts, which existed before its influence
was exercised on them.

Now, plants have sexes, or sexual organs, as well as animals. The
female sexual organs in plants are named carpels. The pistil, already
described, consisting of stigma, style, and germen, is only a fully
developed carpel. The male sexual organs are named stamens, the anthers
of which contain the pollen or fecundating matter. The stamens and
carpels are therefore the essential organs of reproduction in plants,
since it is by the mutual action of these bodies that the embryo of
the future plant is formed, and the same form of life continued in the
earth. Fig. 1 is a representation of a petal, stamen, and the pistil of
Berberis vulgaris, or the common barberry. In this plant, the anthers
open by two valves to let out the pollen. These valves are seen in the
figure, and the pistil is exhibited in section, to show the ovules in
the cavity of the germen.

[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

The reproductive organs only appear at the epoch when plants attain the
full development of all their parts, or arrive at an adult state. The
period when this occurs varies greatly in each species, and depends
entirely on the peculiarities of its constitution. When this epoch
arrives, a visible change takes place in the organic functions; the
stem ceases to elongate, and its internodes no longer developing, the
leaves remain crowded together in closely approximated whorls, and,
after undergoing those peculiar modifications in form and coloring
which we have already described, a flower is produced.

The process of fecundation appears to be as follows: As soon as the
calyx and corolla are fully expanded, the stamens rapidly develop,
their filaments elongate, and the anthers, at first moist and closed,
become dry, and, rupturing, discharge the pollen on the stigma of the
pistil, which at this time is bedewed with a clammy fluid, which serves
to retain the grains of pollen that fall upon its surface. The grains
of pollen, after remaining for some time on the humid stigma, absorb
its moisture, and are seen to swell so that those which are elliptical
assume a spherical form. The thin and highly extensible intine or
inner covering of the pollen grain ultimately is pushed, in the form
of a tube, through one of the pores or ostioles in the surface of the
extine or outer covering, the mode of dehiscence of the pollen grain
being always determined by the character of its surface. The pollen
tube enters the lax tissue of the stigma, and, by gradual increments
of growth, pushes its way down the style into the germen or ovary in
which the ovules are found, up to this period, unfertilized. The tube
enters one of the unimpregnated ovules through a small hole called the
micropyle (from μικξος a little, πυλη gate), conveying
the fecundating fluid matter contained in the cavity of the grain into
the young ovule. This fluid matter is called fovilla, and its flow
through the pollen tube is easily perceived by the movement of those
microscopic corpuscles which it contains.

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

Fig. 2 is a section through the stigma, and part of the style of
Antirrhinum majus, or the common snapdragon. The pollen grains are seen
adhering to the surface of the stigma, and the tube is pushing its way
down the pistil to the germen.

The ovules having received the impregnating matter, the flower loses
its beauty, and nothing remains but the germen, which swells into a
fruit abounding with seeds, by which the species is continued. An
attentive observer may watch these changes throughout the summer months
in any plant that produces flowers and fruit, and may thus satisfy
himself of the general correctness of these statements.




"I believe, Lizzy, that I never told you my own experience about goin'
out to sarvice. I didn't go out 'cause 'twas necessary that I should,
for at my father's there was a house full of everything. We al'ays
lived like the sweet cheeses, as the sayin' is.

"You've heern me tell of Aunt Keziah Higgins. She wasn't my aunt, on'y
a cousin to my mother; but I al'ays called her aunt, out of respect,
seein' she was so much older than I was. Well, she was one of the most
partic'lar bodies that ever breathed the breath of life, except Uncle
Higgins, and he went a hair furder'n she did in some things. She al'ays
chose to do her own work, for there wa'n't a pairson on airth that
could suit her; but one fall she took a dreadful bad cold, and was
threatened with the rebellious fever. Everybody knew how awful nice she
was, to say nothin' of Mr. Higgins, and they couldn't git a soul to
come and stay with 'em for a single day.

"At last, Uncle Higgins come arter me; and, when I found how 'twas, I
consented to go, for it seemed to me a sin and a shame--what I called
right down heathenish--to let the woman suffer for want of bein' took
keer on. I didn't expect that I should suit in everything; but I felt
detarmined, in my own mind, to put the best foot for'ard, and exart
every narve to the utmost to do the best I could, and that was all that
could be expected of anybody.

"They were both so tickled to think I consented to come, that they
neither of 'em uttered a single word of complaint for the two first
days. All I said or did was jest right. I was young, and didn't
understand a dreadful deal about cookin'; but Aunt Keziah wasn't as
sick but what she could give off the orders, so I got along nicely. The
third day she said to me, arter breakfast--

"'Tabitha, I guess I'll have a rice puddin' made for dinner to-day. A
rice puddin', if 'tis made jest right, is Mr. Higgins's favorite.'

"So she told me how to proportionate all the 'gred'encies--how many
eggs, how much rice, sugar, milk, and everything. I mustn't vary the
vally of a thimbleful in an individwal thing, she said, 'cause, if I
did, it wouldn't suit Mr. Higgins. The sass to eat on't, too, must be
made jest so.

"Well, I told her I'd do my best; and I did. If the rice, sugar, and so
on had been goold dust, I couldn't 'ave been an atom more partic'lar
about measurin' 'em; and, arter I got the puddin' into the oven, I
watched it as narrer as ever a cat watched a mouse, so as to be sure
'twas bakin' jest fast enough, and none too fast.

"When 'twas drawin' along towards dinner-time, I thought I'd hunt up a
dish to turn the puddin' into, 'cause, you see, I baked it in a brown,
airthen dish that wa'n't fit to set on the table. Well, I come across
a deep, blue-edged one, jest like one we had at home, that my mother
bought on purpose to put puddin' into. We were to have, besides the
puddin', a grand good b'iled dish--pork and corned beef, and all sorts
of garding-sass, sich as cabbage, turnips, bates, carriots, and so on.
'Twas no fool of a job to prepare so many kinds of sass; but I didn't
vally the trouble, all I aimed at was to suit Uncle Higgins. When I'd
got everything on the table, they looked so nice I felt quite proud.
Accordin' to my mind, 'twas a dinner fit to set afore a king.

"Uncle Higgins was blest with an amazin' good appetite, and, I tell
you, he did good justice to the b'iled dish. Arter a while, he begun to
slack off a leetle mite, and I could see him eyein' the puddin' purty
sharp. At last, says he--

"'What 'ave you got there, Tabitha?'

"'A rice puddin', sir,' says I.

"'A rice puddin'?' says he.

"'Yes, sir,' says I.

"'Well, then, I guess you never sarved much of a 'prenticeship at
making rice puddin's,' says he.

"'If you'll jest taste of it, sir, I guess you'll like it,' says I.

"'I sha'n't taste of sich a lookin' thing as that,' says he, and up he
jumps from the table, appearantly jest as mad as a March hare.

"I felt purty much riled myself, and should 'ave been glad if the
tarnal puddin' had been right in the middle of the Red Sea. Arter I'd
taken so much pains, worried myself e'en jest to death about it, as
'twere, I thought 'twas too bad for him to speak about it in sich a
short, scornful way.

"I didn't tell Aunt Keziah anything about it, 'cause, as she was sick,
I was afeared 'twould worry her; but, afore I'd finished doin' the work
up arter dinner, Uncle Higgins got cooled down a leetle atom, and went
into aunt's room to see how she was. She mistrusted by his looks that
everything wasn't raly right, so she says to him--

"'How did the dinner suit you?'

"'Well enough,' says he.

"'Did Tabitha make the rice puddin' to yer likin'?' says she.

"'I didn't eat any rice puddin',' says he. 'There was a mushy-lookin'
thing on the table that she _called_ a rice puddin'; but it didn't look
like an eatable to me.'

"'What appeared to be the matter with it?' says Aunt Keziah.

"'Why, one thing that ailed it was, there wa'n't a drop of whey in
it; 'twas dry as a contribution-box, and you know I never eat sich

"'I guess you put a leetle too much rice in your puddin' accordin' to
the other gred'ences,' says Aunt Keziah, the first time I went into the
room arter Uncle Higgins was gone.

"'I put in jest as much as you said I must,' says I.

"'Well,' says she, 'Mr. Higgins told me 'twas too dry--that there
wa'n't any whey in it.'

"'If that's all,' says I, 'I'll try my luck ag'in to-morrow, and make
jest the same, on'y scant the rice the least mite that ever was.'

"'So do,' says Aunt Keziah. 'I rather guess you were a leetle too
heavy-handed when you measured the rice.'

"Well, I do declare that I didn't think of anything but that tarnal
rice puddin' all the arternoon; and, the minute I fell asleep at night,
rice puddin's were settin' round in every direction, jest as thick as
a swarm of bees. Once I thought I went to draw a pail of water, when
up came a bucket full of rice puddin'. Then, ag'in, I thought I was
starchin' some of Aunt Keziah's best caps, and found I'd been dippin'
'em in a mess of rice puddin', instead of starch. That was the way I
was tormented all night long. My sleep didn't do me an atom of good;
but, arter breakfast, I brightened up a little, and felt detarmined in
my own mind, if there was any sich thing as makin' a rice puddin' that
would suit Uncle Higgins, I would do it. So I went to work, and, the
land o' massy! if I should live to be as old as Methuselah, and forty
years on to the eend of that, I shall never forgit how I fussed and
worried over that 'ere puddin'. If I measured the rice once, I raly
b'l'eve that I measured it half a dozen times, so that, at last, I got
to be so addle-pated that I could 'ave hardly told B from a broomstick.

"Aunt Keziah said there sartainly couldn't be any danger of its bein'
too dry; and, if it erred a leetle bit on t'other hand, I could dip out
two or three spoonfuls of the whey.

"I don't know how the President feels to be at the head of government;
but, if the affairs of the nation weigh as heavy on his shoulders as
that puddin' did on mine all the time 'twas bakin', he'd soon give up

"There was never anything that looked a mite nicer than it did when I
took it out of the oven. 'Twas enough to make a pairson's mouth water
to look at it; but, the moment I put the tarnal thing into the deep,
blue-edged dish, it looked 'xact as t'other did, on'y, if anything, a
leetle more mushy, as Uncle Higgins called it. If there'd been time,
I'd 'ave gone off by myself and had a good cryin' spell. It was my
fairm belief that the puddin' was bewitched. What to do I didn't know.
One minute I thought I'd put it on the table, and Uncle Higgins might
eat some of it or not, jest as he was a mind to. The next minute, I
made up my mind to hide it away, and not let him know that I'd made
one. I was right in the midst of my quandary, when, the first thing I
knew, Uncle Higgins walked into the kitchen, and marched right up to
the table, where sot the puddin'.

"'What do you call that?' says he.

"'A rice puddin',' says I; and, judgin' by my feelin's, I turned all
manner of colors.

"'Well, don't put sich a lookin' thing as that on to the table,' says
he. 'It don't look fit to be sot afore anybody but a heathen. I've no
notion of havin' what leetle appetite I've got sp'ilt by havin' that
dispisable-lookin' thing afore my eyes.'

"So I goes and pokes it away in a sly corner, for it had tried my
feelin's so I parfectly hated the sight on't. I wa'n't much afeared
that Uncle Higgins would starve, if he didn't have the puddin' to top
off with. He was a dreadful great eater--eat as much as two Christian
men ought to; but I guess he didn't take a terrible sight of comfort
eatin' his dinner, for he had on an awful long face the whole time. I
s'pose that tarnal old puddin' was runnin' in his head. If 'twa'n't in
his, it was in mine.

"Well, Aunt Keziah was mighty airnest to know what luck I had with it.
I meant to ave told her afore dinner, and should, if Uncle Higgins
hadn't come in so, all of a sudding, while I was tryin' to settle in my
mind what I should do about puttin' it on to the table for dinner. When
she asked me about it, I had tough work to keep from bu'stin' right out
a cryin'; for I felt sorry, and I felt 'shamed, and, to tell the plain
truth, a leetle mite put out.

"'Well, it does seem curious,' says she, arter I'd finished tellin' her
about it. 'Run, Tabitha, and bring the puddin' here, and let me have
a squint at it. If I ever made one puddin' by that resait, I'm free
to say I've made a hundred, and al'ays had first rate luck. The very
witches have got into the puddin', I b'l'eve.'

"So off I goes and gits the puddin', and carries it in for Aunt Keziah
to look at.

"'La, child,' says she, the minute she clapped her eye on it, 'I've
found out the marvellous mystery. You've put it into the wrong

"'What odds can it make,' says I, 'whether it's in this or any other?'

"'Why, don't you see, child, that the dish, by bein' so deep and so
small over, don't give the whey a chance to settle off round the edges,
but makes it all mix in with the rice? I al'ays puts it into that
shaller, Chany dish, with a gilt edge, that you'll find on the lower
shelf of the cupboard. Now, if you'll jest shift the puddin' into that
'ere dish, you'll see 'twill look as different as light and darkness.'

"Well, off I went and put it into the dish she told me about, when, lo
and behold! the whey settled off jest as calm and purty as a summer's
mornin', and made a streak round the outside of the puddin' clear and
bright as crystchal. I could hardly b'l'eve my own eyes, and I s'pose
I was as tickled and proud a critter as ever walked on the face of the
airth. I carried it right along to let Aunt Keziah see it.

"'There,' says she, 'that looks right; that'll suit Mr. Higgins. Say
not a word about it, Tabitha; but jest set it into the kittle to-morrow
and heat it over with the steam, and 'twill do for dinner; for, if you
should try forty thousand times, you wouldn't hit it righter than you
have this time.'

"'Well,' says I, 'if you or any other pairson had told me that I should
undergone so much misery on account of usin' the wrong puddin'-dish, I
wouldn't 'ave b'l'eved 'em.'

"The next day, I steamed the puddin', put it into the Chany dish, and
sot it on the table for dinner.

"'There, now, that looks somethin' like,' says Uncle Higgins. 'I'll
tell you what, Tabitha, it isn't best for young, inexperienced gals,
like you, to be too wilful--too fond of havin' their own way. You
thought you'd tire me out, and git me to eat one of your mushy puddin's
at last; but I must be nigh on to famishin' afore I could eat sich a
puddin' as you made yesterday.'

"'I'm glad it suits you, sir,' says I, lookin' meek and innocent as old
Aunt Peggy's cosset lamb, when it turns its basin of milk over.

"You've no idee how I wanted to tell him 'twas the identical puddin'
he run down so to the very lowest notch the day afore; but, you see,
I daresn't, so all the pay I could git was the privilege of laughin'
in my sleeve as he sot there eatin' the puddin', and praisin' it every
other mouthful."


    CAMPBELL CO., _Va._

MR. L. A. GODEY--DEAR SIR: I owe you for my subscription to the "Lady's
Book" for 1852 and 1853. I send you five dollars inclosed. Give me
such credit as you may think proper to extend to an old subscriber of
fifteen years' standing, who sometimes pays in advance, and sometimes
don't, yet never clubs, and never fails to pay without charge to you.
I call that a pretty strong appeal.

Having a moment of leisure on my hands while addressing you on
business, I am tempted to put in a word to you extra--to you, who have
been talking to me steadily for fifteen years, while I have never
had a chance for a syllable in reply. Indeed, I am not positively
assured that editors, however fond they may be of holding forth before
their readers, do manifest any remarkable solicitude to have them
"answer back again." I should take it they were rather of that class,
Irishman-like, who prefer to have "all the reciprocity on one side."
I believe it may be justly said of them, that they do not admire any
sort of correspondence that don't pay well. It, however, seems that an
old subscriber will, once in a while, presume on long acquaintance,
and treat you as a familiar friend, with whom he has the right to
make free. I, at this present moment, feel an impulse of this kind;
but apprehend my position may appear to you rather gawky, and even
peradventure unwarrantable. But old men, you know, and especially
conceited ones, are garrulous.

By the way, Mr. Godey, are you phrenologist enough to tell me why it
is that, when all the other faculties are growing smaller, the organ
of self-esteem is increasing in size? We hear a great deal said about
"the aggressive" and "the progressive." Well, it appears to me that
this same organ of self-esteem deserves to bear off all the first class
premiums at the next "World's Fair" of Active Principles, whether
"aggressive" or "progressive." I beg your pardon, my dear sir, I had no
idea of being at all personal. But you politely intimate that "brevity
is the soul of wit." Thank you! I remark this, with editors, is quite
a favorite prescription (you see, I naturally fall into professional
figures). Nevertheless, it is one they are not overly fond of calling
into requisition themselves. Albeit, Mr. Godey, you and I shall not
fall out here. For, as we possess none of the corporeal parts, neither
of us has much use for "the soul." Don't frown; I'll praise you

I can remember, in time past, when concluding the perusal of a number
of the "Lady's Book," I have found myself soliloquizing thus: "Well, I
have read it through, and what is in it? Absolutely nothing that I can
remember, or, what is worse, nothing that is worth remembering. I will
discontinue. I wish Godey was more of a utilitarian, and would give
us a little less of his whipped syllabub, and a little more of solid
food." But another year would come in and go out, and I still remained
a subscriber to the "Lady's Book;" and, all this time, its strides
"progressive" were very humble and moderate, indeed. But times have
changed, and the "Lady's Book" has changed with them. I am glad to say
there has been a great improvement--a very great improvement in your
magazine. Thanks to your industrious, judicious, and sensible editress,
the ratio of the useful and valuable is fast gaining on the trashy,
"flat, and unprofitable." Go on.

I, some time back, said to my daughter--only, and motherless--

"Well, child, I believe I must discontinue 'Godey.'"

"Why, pa?"

"It is not suited to my taste, and you are always at school."

"But, pa, I always read the numbers through when I come home. I like it
very much. It is very interesting. I prefer it to any of the magazines."

"There is 'Harper's'--more solid matter."

"I don't like 'Harper's.' I can't read it. I greatly prefer 'Godey.' I
do not know what I should do without it. Do, pa, continue to take it
for me."

I saw at once you had a strong hold on her regard, and I dropped the
subject. Since then, I observe she has got out the old numbers for
many years back (we keep them carefully filed away), and has been
very busy with them; and, when she is done with them, she sorts them
all over nicely and puts them away again. The upshot of the matter
is this letter and the inclosure. Trusting that none other than
benign influences will ever be derived from the pages of your popular
magazine, I subscribe myself,

    Your ob't s'v't,      W. S. G.

       *       *       *       *       *

(_Underscored._) P. S.--A word about underscoring. I would thank my
excellent friend, Mrs. Hale, to give her lady contributors a gentle
hint--a very gentle one. Lady authors are much given to underscoring;
that the practice is considered, by some of the readers of the "Lady's
Book," not to be in good taste, and far "more honored in the breach
than in the observance." It generally is declaratory of about this:
"Reader, here is the point, which I fear you have not penetration
to perceive;" or, "How funny that is!" or, "What a nice thought is
here!" or, "How smart and striking this!" or the like. Now, I would
respectfully suggest that the better way is to write nothing that
does not deserve to be underscored, as might be exemplified, if my
modesty did not forbid, in the preceding delectable epistle. If a
writer deems a composition to be superlatively fine, as authors not
unfrequently do, just recommend that the word "underscored" be written
at the top, as I have done at the top of this postscript, with the
assurance that the editor will put that in type, too, and then the
thing will be fixed. For really some readers do not think it polite in
authors to be everlastingly reminding them that "Here is a beautiful
idea, which I fear you are too obtuse to discover." We poor readers
would be gratified by finding we had a little credit for common sense.
Any way, for one, I prefer to emphasize for myself. Now, I have not
the same prejudice or objection, whichever you choose to call it, to
capitals. They may be often used with fine effect. As, for instance,
in the preface to D'Aubigne's "History of the Reformation," where the
author states his principle to be that there is a "GOD IN HISTORY." I
am pleased to see that some of your best contributors have no use at
all for the underscore.

    W. S. G.


In our January number we described the whole process of preparing
the shells, and making all those separate portions necessary to
form a wreath; the same instructions apply equally to the present
branch of our subject; but then we only spoke of the "simple" form of
this work, or that composed merely of shells and silver wire. It is
doubtless the most chaste, from its extreme purity; but it is also
the most perishable, for we all know how quickly silver tarnishes; it
likewise is not so convenient for wear, especially in the hair, for,
be as careful as ever we will, we cannot entirely avoid roughness and
projecting points.


The "composite form," which we are now about to describe, admits of the
ornaments being made to match, or contrast with, or set off, any hue of
dress or complexion. In the making of composite rice shell-wreaths,
&c., various materials are brought into use, as floss-silk; fine
wire-chenil; Roman-pearl beads, and beads of a similar kind of coral
color, turquoise, pink, green, or yellow; flower-seeds; velvet or
satin, or silver leaves; and silver bullion.

To make a wreath, and a set of sprays for a bridal-dress, we should
use white floss-silk, white chenil, and silver bullion. The shells are
to be "wired," as directed in our former article; but, in making them
up into leaves and flowers, instead of using the fine wire, we use the
floss-silk to wind or bind them; and thus, instead of the wires being
all exposed, they are hidden, and the stems present a smooth silken

For making a simple, or single flower, we use the five shells as
before, but we cut half an inch of silver bullion, thread it on one of
the cut lengths of wire (of which we directed there should always be a
supply), fold it into a loop, twist the wire to keep the bullion firmly
in form and place, and put this in the centre of the flower, arranging
the five shells round it, and binding the stem with the silk.

[Illustration: DOUBLE FLOWER.]

In making the "double flower," we use twenty instead of the seventeen
shells before directed; viz. five for the flower, and fifteen for the
five leaflets of three shells each; in the centre of the five shells
we put the loop of bullion just described, and between the flower
and the leaflets we arrange five loops of fine wire-chenil at equal
distances, as in this cut, allowing each loop to project nearly half
an inch, and binding them on with the fine wire; the leaflets are then
arranged round the stem so that the centre shell of each one appears
between, and just beyond each two loops; the whole is bound together
with silk, and the stem covered to its extremity. The "bud" may either
have a loop of chenil standing up on each side of the shells of which
it is composed, or it may be formed solely of two or three loops of
chenil bound on to a stem of wire with floss-silk. When the flowers are
colored, by adding chenil and beads, or seeds to them, green leaves and
green buds have a very pretty effect.

The leaves for the bridal ornaments we were speaking of, may either be
composed of shells and wound with white silk or silver, or white satin
or velvet, or crêpe leaves may be used. We need scarcely add that silk
must be used to bind all the parts together.

Let us imagine, now, that a _brunette_ desires to dress her hair, and
decorate her snowy ball-dress with wreaths, and sprays, &c., of scarlet
or coral color.

The shells must be prepared, and wired in the ordinary way, and half a
dozen reels of floss-silk, and a knot of chenil of the desired hue, and
four strings of small coral-colored beads, and two of beads about the
average size of peas, got. These beads must each be threaded separately
like the shells, but on rather shorter lengths of wire, and the wire
folded and twisted to make it hold its beads firmly. One of the larger
beads should be put in the centre of every double flower, and three of
the small ones in the centre of every single flower. The flowers may
be made simply with the five shells and five loops of chenil, omitting
the leaflets. If the leaves are to be made of shells, the stems must be
bound with this colored silk; but velvet, or satin, or tinsel leaves of
the same hue may be substituted for or intermixed with the shell leaves
with good effect.

Ornaments for blue, pink, green, or maize _toilettes_ may in like
manner be formed _en suite_ by substituting beads, silk, and chenil, of
the chosen shade, for the color we have given. Mourning-wreaths, &c.,
may likewise be made by using black silk, chenil, and beads; or gray
silk and chenil with pearl beads, and gray or white satin leaves.

When once our readers have begun to carry our directions into practice,
they will perceive how possible it is to create an infinite variety of
tasteful articles, all differing in style, form, and hue. Coronets,
wreaths, and headdresses of every conceivable pattern may be made;
sprays for the dress of any size, length, or shape; bouquets for the
waist or bosom; trimmings for the _corsage_; tiny wreaths to put
between quilled ribbon or _blonde_ for the purpose of ornamenting
gloves, or sleeves, or the top of the dress; flowers for caps; studs or
buttons for the front of a dress; in short, more things than we have
time or space to name. And all these may be made very economically, for
less than one-third of the ordinary cost of such decorations.

We have given, at the commencement of this article, a cut of a spray,
or rather of a portion of one, for want of space compelled us to
shorten it; it has green velvet leaves; the flowers are surrounded by
chenil loops, and have in their centres flower-seeds; it is wound with


This cut represents a small bouquet to be worn brooch-fashion in the
bosom of the dress; it is composed of shells and turquoise beads, and
wound with light blue silk. The leaves are of shells, and gradually
increase in size towards the end of it.

The advantage of using silk instead of the fine silver wire for binding
the stems, &c., is, that not only are all points and inequalities
thus smoothed over, but, with ordinary care, the articles wear much
longer--for even if the small portions of silver wire left exposed do
tarnish, they cannot mar the beauty of the whole, forming then so very
trifling a portion of it, instead of the leading feature, as they do in
"simple rice shell-work."

We said just now that studs or buttons could be formed with shells; we
will now explain how this may be done.

Cut out a set of circular pieces of white cartridge-paper, or very
thin card-board of the size it is wished the buttons should be; from
the diameter of a dollar to that of a twenty-five cent piece is the
ordinary scale. Have ready wired some middle-sized and small shells,
and a pearl or colored bead the size of a pea for each button.

With a good-sized pin perforate a circle of holes, about a third of an
inch in, all the way round, and pass the wire of a middle-sized shell
through each, bending the shells down, so that they lie evenly round
with their backs upwards, and their points projecting just beyond the
edge of the card-board. Without disturbing the wires on the wrong
side, now make another circle of perforated holes, and put in another
round of shells, bending them so as just to overlap the outer ones.
Still leave the ends of wire, and pierce a third circle of holes, and
into these put small shells, and bend them in like manner, to fit on
the former rounds. Three circles will generally be sufficient for a
good-sized button. Pierce a hole in the centre, and put in the wired
bead, which will fill up and complete the surface. Now carefully
flatten down the wires at the back, and cover the back with silk,
arranging any shell which may have become misplaced afterwards.

The floss-silk may be obtained at any large Berlin wool shop; it
is sold on small reels, of which from two to six or eight will be
required, according to the quantity of work which has to be wound.

The chenil is procurable at the same place; one knot goes a great way.
It is the small wired chenil we use, not the fine embroidery chenil.

The beads are sold at most fancy repositories. It is not the crystal
glass, or the seed bead which we use, but those French colored glass
beads that have lately been so much worn. It is not absolutely
necessary they be only round; for there is a long, or rather an oblong
variety, which is very effective.

The leaves and flower-seeds may be bought at any artificial florist's;
but the best way is to obtain them from the makers, then they can be
ordered of any color or pattern.

A circular wreath of simple daisy-flowers, like the third flower cut
given in our last article, has very chaste and graceful appearance; or
these flowers may be combined with the wheat-ears with good effect.

But we have said enough to open the path to our readers; and once
entered therein, they will find the work infinitely suggestive, and
offering scope for every graceful and tasteful vagary. So we will only
add a little word of advice--aim at lightness, not only of appearance,
but of actual weight, and never crowd or load any ornament with too
much work. The leading principle of artistic excellence in every
department of art is simplicity; and this may be attained by close
and severe attention. The eye is most pleased when it can retain at a
glance the chief points of attraction.

In our third article, we shall give instructions for making baskets,


In the western counties, the children, decked with the wreaths and
true-lover's knots presented to them, gayly adorn one of their number
as their chief, and march from house to house, singing--

    "Good-morrow to you, Valentine!
    Curl your locks as I do mine,
    Two before and three behind;
    Good-morrow to you, Valentine!"

They commence in many places as early as six o'clock in the morning,
and intermingle the cry, "To-morrow is come!" Afterwards they make
merry with their collections. At Islip, Oxfordshire, England, I have
heard the children sing the following, when collecting pence on this

    "Good-morrow, Valentine!
    I be thine and thou be'st mine,
    So please give me a Valentine."

And likewise the following--

    "Good-morrow, Valentine!
      God bless you ever!
    If you'll be true to me,
    I'll be the like to thee;
      Old England for ever!"

Schoolboys have a very uncomplimentary way of presenting each other
with these poetical memorials--

    "Peep, fool, peep,
      What do you think to see?
    Every one has a Valentine,
      And here's one for thee!"

Far different from these is a stanza which is a great favorite with
young girls on this day, offered indiscriminately, and, of course,
quite innocently, to most of their acquaintances--

    "The rose is red,
      The violet's blue;
    Pinks are sweet,
      And so are you!"

The mission of Valentines is one of the very few old customs not on
the wane; and the streets of our metropolis practically bear evidence
of this fact in the distribution of love-messages on our stalls and
shop-windows, varying in price from a sovereign to one halfpenny. Our
readers, no doubt, will ask for its origin, and there we are at fault
to begin with. The events of St. Valentine's life furnish no clue
whatever to the mystery, although Wheatley, in his "Illustration of
the Common Prayer," absurdly disposes of the question in this way:
"St. Valentine was a man of most admirable parts, and so famous for
his love and charity, that the custom of choosing Valentines upon his
festival, which is still practised, took its rise from thence." We see
no explanation here in any way satisfactory, and must be contented with
the hope that some of our antiquaries may hit on something more to the

It was anciently the custom to draw lots on this day. The names of an
equal number of each sex were put into a box, in separate partitions,
out of which every one present drew a name, called the Valentine, which
was regarded as a good omen of their future marriage. It would appear
from a curious passage quoted in the "Dictionary of Archaisms," that
any lover was hence termed a Valentine; not necessarily an affianced
lover, as suggested in "Hampson's Calendarium," vol. i. p. 163.
Lydgate, the poet of Bury, in the fifteenth century, thus mentions this

    "St. Valentine, of custom year by year
      Men have an usance in this region
    To look and search Cupid's calendere,
      And choose their choice by great affection:
      Such as be prick'd with Cupid's motion,
    Taking their choice as their lot doth fall:
    But I love one which excelleth all."

The divinations practised on Valentine's day are a curious subject.
Herrick mentions one by rose-buds--

    "She must no more a-Maying;
    Or by rose-buds divine
    Who'll be her Valentine."

Perhaps the poet may here allude to a practice similar to the
following, quoted by Brand: "Last Friday was Valentine day; and the
night before I got five bay-leaves, and pinned four of them to the
four corners of my pillow, and the fifth to the middle; and then, if
I dreamt of my sweetheart, Betty said we should be married before the
year was out. _But, to make it more sure_, I boiled an egg hard, and
took out the yolk, and filled it with salt; and, when I went to bed,
eat it shell and all, without speaking or drinking after it. We also
wrote our lover's names upon bits of paper, and rolled them up in clay,
and put them into water; and the first that rose up was to be our
Valentine. Would you think it? Mr. Blossom was my man. I lay abed, and
shut my eyes all the morning, till he came to our house, for I would
not have seen another man before him for all the world." According
to Mother Bunch, the following lines should be said by the girl on
retiring to rest the previous night--

    "Sweet guardian angels, let me have
    What I most earnestly do crave,
    A Valentine endowed with love,
    That will both kind and constant prove."

We believe the old custom of drawing lots on this eventful day is
obsolete, and has given place to the favorite practice of sending
pictures, with poetical legends, to objects of love or ridicule. The
lower classes, however, seldom treat the matter with levity, and many
are the offers of marriage thus made. The clerks at the post-offices
are to be pitied, the immense increase of letters beyond the usual
average adding very inconveniently to their labors. Such is Mr.
Halliwell's account of Valentine's day.

In "Poor Robin's Almanack," 1676, the _drawing_ of Valentines is thus
alluded to--

    "Now, Andrew, Antho-
      Ny, and William,
    For Valentines _draw_
      Prue, Kate, Jilian."

Many curious customs are related by different writers in honor of this
day; but, of all the quotations that could be made, none is more quaint
and striking than the following from the Diary of the celebrated Pepys.
On the 14th of February, 1667, is there entered: "This morning came up
to my wife's bedside, I being up dressing myself, little Will Mercer
to her Valentine, and brought her name written upon blue paper in gold
letters, done by myself very pretty; and we were both well pleased
with it. But I am also this year my wife's Valentine, and it will cost
me £5; but that I must have laid out, if we had not been Valentines."
He also adds: "I find that Mrs. Pierce's little girl is my Valentine,
she having drawn me; which I was not sorry for, easing me of something
more than I must have given to others. But here I do first observe the
drawing of mottoes as well as names; so that Pierce, who drew my wife,
did draw also a motto, and this girl drew another for me: what mine was
I forget; but my wife's was most courteous, and most fair, which, as
it may be used on an anagram upon each name, might be very pretty. One
wonder I observed to-day, there was no music in the morning, to call up
our new married friend (Peg Penn), which is very mean, methinks."

That Valentines were not confined to the lower classes in the days
of Pepys, and were sometimes of a very costly description, may be
judged from the following statement: "The Duke of York being once Mrs.
Stuart's Valentine, did give her a jewel of about £800, and my Lord
Mandeville, her Valentine this year, a ring of about £300."

And, in the following year, he notes down: "This evening my wife did
with great pleasure show me her stock of jewels, increased by the ring
she hath made lately, as my Valentine's gift this year, a Turkey stone
set with diamonds; with this, and what she had, she reckons that she
hath above £150 worth of jewels of one kind or other, and I am glad of
it; for it is fit the wretch should have something to content herself

With regard to the origin of this festival in the calendar, there
are many conflicting opinions. St. Valentine, who suffered martyrdom
in the reign of the Emperor Claudius, was eminently distinguished
for his love and charity; and the custom of choosing Valentines, or
special loving friends on this day, is by some supposed to have thence
originated. The following solution is, however, the more probable
one. It was the practice in ancient Rome, during a great part of the
month of February, to celebrate the Lupercalia, which were feasts in
honor of Pan and Juno, whence the latter deity was named Februata, or
Februalis. On this occasion, amidst a variety of ceremonies, the names
of young women were put into a box, from which they were drawn by the
men, as chance directed. The pastors of the early Christian church,
who by every possible means endeavored to eradicate the vestiges of
pagan superstitions, and chiefly by some commutations of their forms,
substituted, in the present instance, the names of particular saints,
instead of those of the women; and, as the festival of the Lupercalia
had commenced about the middle of February, they appear to have chosen
Valentine's day for celebrating the new feast, because it occurred
nearly at the same time.




    "And the ice it isn't water, and water isn't free--and I can't say
    that anything is what it ought to be."

    _Cricket on the Hearth._

"_I feel as if I should fly!_"

No wonder poor Mrs. Bunker longed for the wings of a dove, if they
could bear her to anything like rest. It was Monday--washing-day--and
_blue_ Monday into the bargain. The parlor was in disorder (the Bunkers
always sat in their parlor on Sunday, and held it sacred the rest of
the week); the front hall tracked and littered up with the arrival of
a visitor's baggage--the spare room was not ready--the clothes not
counted out--the girl idling away her time at the pump--the breakfast
dishes unwashed--and the baby screaming, as only a cross child can
scream, in its mother's arms, showing not the least symptom of a
morning nap, or, indeed, of _anything_ but colic.

Mrs. Bunker, as she sat in the midst of this confusion, and expressed
her desire to fly, bore no resemblance whatever to an angel--except
that angels are usually represented with loose robes and unconfined
hair. We question if she had looked at a brush since the day before,
and her morning-dress was of the style denominated "wrapper"--a not
over-clean chintz. The room itself was cheerful enough, so far as
sunshine and comfortable furniture would go; but nothing was in its
place; and this disorder, added to the forlorn appearance of Mrs.
Bunker, holding the baby in its sour, crumpled night-dress and soiled
flannel, was anything but an inviting prospect to a newly arrived guest.

Mrs. Bunker expected her every minute--Aunt Lovey--her husband's
aunt, who had brought him up, and had given him all those particular
ways that were the bane of Mrs. Bunker's wedded life, she having very
little idea of the necessity he attached to method in managing a
household. Mrs. Bunker, only two years from school, had written very
nice letters to this friend of her husband's orphaned childhood. She
loved her Joshua, in spite of his unsentimental name, and was inclined
to adopt all his family in her affectionate little soul. Nor was it
unnatural that she wished them to think well of her in return; she
particularly desired to gain Aunt Lovey's good opinion, and when the
long talked of visit was decided on, had hoped to make a grand first
impression. If it hadn't been Monday morning, and if baby hadn't
been so cross--if the spare room had only been cleared up after her
brother's departure--if the girl was "worth two straws"--in fact, if
everything hadn't been exactly what it shouldn't be, Mrs. Bunker would
have got up herself, her house, and her baby, to the best advantage.
She had a very pretty face and figure, a fact of which she was well
aware, and as a school-girl and young lady in society, had made the
most of. Since her marriage, this was not so apparent to Mr. Bunker,
however, as in the days of their courtship. _Then_, she never allowed
herself to be seen without her hair in the most wonderful French twists
and Grecian braids--or her dress put on to the utmost advantage. Now,
"it wasn't worth while to dress just for Joshua"--or "baby was _so_
troublesome"--or "she hadn't a thing to put on." It _was_ worth while
to dress for Aunt Lovey, and she desired to look her very best--only
baby _wouldn't_ go to sleep. "Rock-a-by baby"--

(Mrs. Bunker had been considered to have the best voice in the
Highville Seminary, but now her music was confined chiefly to that
charming ballad writer, Mother Goose.)

"Rock-a-by baby, father's gone a hunting"--Oh, dear, she will be here
before I can get him down! There--therey--did the drayman say his
Aunty Lovey was a-goin' to walky uppy to the housey? Johnny shall
ride, Johnny shall ride (you provoking little monkey, why _don't_ you
shut your eyes!)--"Wid a white pussy-cat tied to his side!"--sang, and
rocked, and trotted Mrs. Bunker.

"Where _is_ that Jane? Not a dish washed--and I don't believe the hot
water's on for the clothes. Therey, therey, mother's baby, mother's
only little man! Did the naughty colic bother mother's little son?
Send the wind right up, so I would. Ride a cock horse to Banbury
cross--therey, therey, don't cry so, mother's little man--'Had a little
dog, sir, Banger was his name, sir'--Banger, Buffer, Kicker, Cuffer,
_Banger_ was his name, sir! Jane! Jane! Where is that girl? I feel as
if I should fly!"

At which remark--the energy of which we have endeavored to portray in
the most crumpled italics--the door opened to admit, not Jane, but Aunt
Lovey, and our history of Mrs. Bunker's tribulations began.

She gave one glance at her visitor, one to herself, and round the
room. There was no help for it--she was obliged to deposit baby in the
cradle, screaming as he was, and advance to make a "first impression."
Aunt Lovey did not look shocked or disgusted--a little surprised
certainly, for, knowing her nephew's orderly propensities, this
was not what she expected to find his home, and the untidy, tired,
fretted-looking woman who introduced herself as his wife, did not
certainly answer to the lover's descriptions of his betrothed. However,
she had been a housekeeper, and knew what Monday mornings were, with
only one maid of all work, and a young child to see to. So she kissed
her niece very cordially for the warm welcome she offered, and begging
'not to be minded, as she understood these little troubles,' sat down,
laid aside her bonnet and shawl, and asked for the baby.

There it was again--hardest of all! Mrs. Bunker's personal vanity,
in departing from her as a married woman, had rested and centred
itself on the baby. Aunt Lovey had taken the utmost interest in its
advent--knitted all its socks, the very blue pair, soiled and dirty,
which he was kicking out at that moment--and in return, had been
favored by rapturous accounts of his _beauty_ at three days old,
his knowingness at three months. Mrs. Bunker had pictured herself
presenting the baby in grand toilet to his great-aunt, and seeing
her surprise, as the old lady confessed the half had not been told
her--"oh, dear!"

But there was no help for it, and she was obliged to withdraw the
poor little juvenile from its involuntary confinement, ready to cry
with weariness and disappointment, as she tried to coax it into
something like good-humor. Jane, drawn by curiosity where duty failed,
arrived to complete the tableau, slamming the door, and slopping over
the pump-water on her way to the wash-kitchen. She must have been
experimenting on the principle that "the longest way round is the
shortest way home," for there was a door in the work-kitchen leading
directly to the street.

Good Aunt Lovey was no more discomposed by the bold stare the "help"
fixed upon her, than she had been by the rest of the picture. It must
have cost her an inward tremor to lay down her dove-colored cashmere
shawl and split straw bonnet with its white satin ribbons, on the
littered bureau, but she did so without invitation, Mrs. Bunker
having fairly forgotten to offer one in the combined annoyances and
embarrassments of the moment, and then, seated in the rocking-chair,
from which her niece had risen, she spread the cradle blanket in her
lap, and held out her hands for the baby.

It was really a very nice child, as babies go, in spite of its rumpled
costume. Aunt Lovey's first proceeding was to "straighten it out,"
smoothing the uncomfortable folds of cloth and flannel from under its
back, and thus covering its cold little feet. Her handkerchief was
produced to dry the little face from the mingled effects of tears and
teething, and then warmed on the stove--there was very little fire--the
stove never _did_ draw on washing-day--to cover the mottled arms and
hands. Baby thus smoothed, soothed, and comforted, presented a much
more respectable appearance, and received a hearty kiss from its
grand-aunt, by way of an anodyne. It seemed to have the desired effect,
for, after staring with its round blue eyes in the old lady's face, as
if endeavoring to recall the features, it gradually winked and blinked
itself to sleep, certainly contrary to its most determined intentions.

Mrs. Bunker, who had excused herself as if to overlook Jane's
operations, but in reality to take up the crying fit where the baby
left off, returned, with eyes very much swollen in consequence, and
tried to offer an apology for herself and her house, but broke down
again into a little sob, and a clean pocket-handkerchief.

"Come, come, my dear, no excuse is needed," hummed Aunt Lovey, at
the mother and the fast retiring baby, to the old-fashioned melody
of "Banks and braes." "Just warm a pillow--there, that's right; now
shake it up, and make it soft; have every feather smooth and light,"
unconsciously relapsing into rhyme as well as chime, while she
deposited the placid Johnny in his accustomed bed. "And now, my dear,
I see how it all is. Could you lend me a clean check apron?--never
mind, this towel will do, and will wash up these dishes post haste.
What's your girl's name? Jane? Jane, here, come and rake up this fire
a little; there's nothing helps matters along faster than a bright,
cheerful fire; it's like a lively disposition, which I'm sure you have

It was wonderful to see Jane's alacrity in obeying these
instructions, given in a quick, inspiriting, and, at the same time,
not-to-be-trifled-with tone. Mrs. Bunker, captain as she was, placed
herself willingly under the orders of so skilful a pilot, and was
steered triumphantly through the household difficulties that had
gathered so thickly around her.

"And now, my dear," resumed that excellent woman, unpinning the towel
that encircled her ample waist, and folding it smoothly before she laid
it down, "what else is there to do this morning?"

The fire was burning cheerfully, the dishes put away, the carpet swept,
the chairs set back, and the baby still sleeping soundly in the bright
warmth that had diffused itself throughout the room. Mrs. Bunker
already felt as if she had known Aunt Lovey for a long time; they had
talked all the while they were busied about household affairs, and
the new niece felt as if she could almost open her heart to the kind
old lady, and consult her about those constantly occurring domestic
drawbacks and trials. Joshua, good husband as he was, did not seem to
understand. It was more effective than a week of formal visiting, and
Mrs. Bunker's face and step brightened with the room. Now came the
clouds again. "There was so much to be done, she didn't know where to

"But what is it?" urged Aunt Lovey, stooping down admiringly over the
cradle, for the baby looked very lovely in his quiet sleep, one little
round hand pushed under his cheek--he was making as good an impression
as his mother could desire.

"Oh, _everything_!" responded the baby's mother, in a despairing tone.

"Ah, I see, _mustard to mix_," and with these cabalistic words, the
visitor took a deliberate survey of her hostess for the first time.
"Consider me your grandmother, Sophia, and let me advise you to tidy
yourself a little; that will be the first step towards it. A neat
morning-dress and clean apron are next best, or perhaps better, than a
good fire, in any house. I'll see to the baby."

Aunt Lucy certainly made herself at home. She put the tips of her
prunella buskins on the stove hearth, and examined the hem of her
skirts to see if they had contracted any dampness or mud stains in her
recent walk, and then produced her knitting, as if she was settled
down for some time. Mrs. Bunker took the advice, as she had former
prescriptions, and found it to work as well. The morning's duties were
accomplished with an ease and alacrity that astonished herself, even to
making the great chamber as neat as Aunt Lovey's heart could desire,
without the mortification of her knowing it had ever been otherwise.

It was not until Mr. Bunker had come from the store, and been duly
astonished and delighted at his aunt's unexpected arrival, and the
tidy appearance of the whole household--to tell the truth, he wondered
how the last happened to be so--that Mrs. Bunker found time to seek an
explanation of the significant sentence applied by the old lady to her
state of despondency with regard to domestic affairs. Significant she
was convinced, though she could not exactly make out the application,
as her aunt had seen the mutton chops destined for dinner arrive from
the butcher's, and she had never heard of mustard being taken with
them. They had been duly served, praised, and eaten; the dinner dishes
were washed and put away, so was the baby for his second diurnal nap,
and Mrs. Bunker, notwithstanding she had company, found herself seated
to her sewing by three o'clock for the first in a month, while Jane,
like the unfortunate "maid" mentioned in one of the baby's favorite
lullabies, was

    "In the garden
    Hanging out the clothes."

Aunt Lovey, looking thoughtfully over her spectacles, thought her
nephew's description of his wife not so far out of the way after all,
as she hemmed away industriously at a pile of new towels, the most
fascinating work next to crochet one can undertake; it slips by so fast
and evenly, and there seems to be so much accomplished.

"But, Aunt Lovey," said Mrs. Bunker, looking up suddenly, and finding
those penetrating gray eyes fixed on her, "what did you mean by
'mustard to mix?'"

"Oh, I did not explain, did I? Well, when I was first married and
moved out west--Utica was out west then, from Connecticut--I knew no
more about managing for myself than you do now. I used to find my work
accumulate, and I would get discouraged and go about a whole week,
feeling as if the world rested upon my shoulders; and that made me
mope, and your uncle John got discouraged, because I did, and there was
no end of the snarl things would get into. Our only near neighbor was
a nice tidy body, who always looked like wax-work."

"Something such a person as you," interrupted Mrs. Bunker, playfully.

"Well, perhaps so; but you never saw my house; her house was like a pin
from one end to the other. One day I just ran in to borrow a little
meal--ours had given out unexpectedly--and I found my good neighbor in
a flurry, acting just as I used to feel sometimes."

"'Oh, she had _everything_ to do,' she said, 'and company coming to

"'Everything? Well, what? As far as I could see, everything was done.'

"'Oh, the table's to set;' and up and around the room she went again.

"'But it was two hours to dinner--what else?'

"'Why!--well, then, _mustard to mix_!'

"That was every earthly thing, come to think of it; but she had been
flurried by the sudden arrival, and did not stop to see that it could
not possibly disturb any of her arrangements. So I went home, and
found I generally had _mustard to mix_, when my flurries came on; that
is, if I set myself right to work to clear up the snarl, it wasn't half
so bad as I felt it was. Setting down to fret over matters only snarled
things the more, and then poor John was troubled to see me worried, and
things would go from bad to worse."

"But, aunty," said the young wife, with a half sigh, ending in a smile,
"do you think I shall _ever_ make a housekeeper? I know Joshua is

"Yes, yes, my dear; why not? Only you will have to learn how to _mix
mustard_ to begin with."


M. Herbert, a gentleman who has recently arrived from France, on
Saturday exhibited to a few ladies and gentlemen his method of causing
plants to blow almost instantaneously. The plants selected--a group
of geraniums and a rose-tree--were planted in two rather deep boxes
of garden mould, previously prepared with some chemical manure, and
were then covered with glass shades. M. Herbert next proceeded to pour
over the roots, from a small watering-pot, a chemical mixture, which,
uniting with the ingredients already in the earth, caused a great
heat, as was shown by an intense steam or vapor, which was evolved
within the shades, and allowed to some extent to escape through a small
hole in the top, which at first was kept closed. The effect upon the
geraniums was certainly almost instantaneous, the buds beginning to
burst in about five or six minutes, and the plants being in full bloom
within ten minutes, when the blossoms were gathered by M. Herbert
and distributed amongst the ladies present. With the rose-tree the
exhibitor was less fortunate, M. Herbert explaining that it had only
been in his possession about half or three-quarters of an hour, and he
had therefore not had sufficient time to prepare for the experiment,
thereby evincing that it occupies more time than would appear to the
casual observer to be the case. The invention may prove useful where
ladies require to decorate their drawing-rooms or boudoirs with the
beauties of Flora somewhat earlier in the seasons than can otherwise be
obtained. The experiments took place at the residence of M. Laurent,
Onslow-house, Brompton. [How far does this account for the Chinese
"magical" method?]




(_See Plate._)

    Upon her head she gently threw
      A veil of fabric light,
    To shield her from the pearly dew
      That mingled with the night:
    Then with a motion light and free--
      No proud and stately stalk--
    The lady of the mansion rose
      To take her evening walk.

    Thou placid moon, and you, ye stars,
      That nightly deck the sky,
    Ye must not look in envy on
      The brightness of her eye;
    And you, ye babbling waters near,
      That make my soul rejoice,
    Ye must be silent when ye hear
      The music of her voice!

    Ye moon and stars and babbling fount,
      Your choicest blessings throw
    Across the pathway of my fair,
      Wherever she may go!
    And if I soothe her cares the while,
      With fine poetic talk,
    Perhaps on me she'll deign to smile,
      In some sweet evening walk!



    Seven bright ones in the angel-land,
      With stars to crown each brow;
    The mother spied them hand in hand,
      Around the Saviour bow;
    And oh! that whiteness, heavenly bland,
      That clothed their bodies now!

    Seven bright ones in that sunny clime,
      Hope would her tears condemn,
    She blessed the eagle wings of Time
      Which bore her nearer them,
    Where she would join the seraph chime,
      And wear a diadem.

    Seven dear ones born of her heart's love,
      Now safely housed in heaven,
    She humbly sought that test to prove,
      To every mortal given,
    To labor for her King above,
      Who keepeth these her seven.

    And ofttimes, at her daily toil,
      Seven bright ones would alight,
    And each with sweet and holy smile,
      Fill her with deep delight,
    Until the very earthly wild,
      To her, looked strangely bright.

    And oft, when stars gleamed forth on high,
      And silence reigned around,
    She heard their pinions sweeping by,
      A far, unearthly sound;
    And then her spirit reached the sky,
      At one ecstatic bound.

    Seven bright ones in the land called Light,
      And oft with her below!
    Far fled the frighted shades of Night
      From Faith's celestial glow,
    Wherein she walked with humble might,
      Till she lay humbly low.

    Then her free spirit walked in Light,
      And smiled, but wept no more,
    And with her, seven, all dazzling bright,
      Beheld all perils o'er;
    The goal of which mysterious flight,
      None living may explore.



    All the while my needle traces
      Stitches in a prosy seam,
    Flit before me little faces,
      And for them the while I dream.

    Building castle, light and airy,
      For my merry little Kate,
    Wond'ring if the wayward fairy
      Will unlock its golden gate.

    Scaling Fame's proud height for Willie,
      Just as all fond mothers do,
    And for her, my thoughtful Lily,
      Twining laurel leaflets too.

    In the far-off future roving,
      Where the skies are bright and fair;
    Hearing voices charmed and loving,
      Calling all my darlings there.

    Through the distant years I'm tracing
      Dewy pathways bright with flowers,
    And along their borders placing
      Here and there these pets of ours.

    And the while my fancy lingers
      In that hope-born summer clime,
    Pretty garments prove my fingers
      Have been busy all the time.

    And I care not, though around me
      Romp the little merry band;
    Never could the spell that bound me
      Break at touch of softer hand

    Than the little hand of Nora,
      Soiled in search of blossoms rare;
    For she says they're gifts that Flora
      Bade her bring to deck my hair.

    So my summer days are flying
      On their swift oblivious track;
    But while love meets fond replying,
      I would never wish them back.

    But their precious fragrant roses
      I would gather and entwine
    In a wreath, ere summer closes
      For the autumn's pale decline.



    Away from the gladsome and life-giving breeze,
      In his damp and mouldering cell,
    Away from the rustle of waving trees,
      Alone did the miser dwell;
    Around his wrinkled and careworn brow
      Hung wild his hoary hair,
    And the spectre look of death e'en now,
    And the furrows deep of the Ruler's plow,
      Sat grim on his temples there.

    He grasps the gold with his fingers cold,
      And counts it o'er again,
    And he envies the snuggling beam of light
      That creeps through the broken pane;
    And he starts at every passing sound,
      And hastily turns the key,
    And casts a hurried glance around,
    And, hugging his chest, on the cold, damp ground
      To his god he bows the knee.

    The owl on the roof-tree flaps his wings,
      And moans a plaintive strain,
    And grimly peers with his glassy eye
      Over the golden gain;
    And the pallid smoke from the chimney crawls
      Away from its mean abode;
    It cannot rise to heaven, but falls
    Adown the damp and mouldering walls,
      And hurries beneath the sod.

    Oh, I have thought that a mother's love
      Was the fondest passion yet,
    As she breathes the breath of her infant babe--
      Still, a mother may forget;
    But the miser's throne is his gold alone,
      His passion is centred there;
    His life, his love, his dearest one,
    The joy of his breast is the tinkling tone,
      Gold, gold is his fondest fair.

    The midnight moon looks lovingly down
      On the sleeping laborer's head;
    Hushed and still is the busy mill,
      And the infant's cradle bed;
    But the miser springs, if a footstep rings,
      Like a wild beast from his lair;
    He feels the poison of conscience stings,
    He fears the robber a bandit brings,
      And he creeps to his golden care.

    The beggar stopped at the rich man's door,
      And paused at the miser's stone,
    Yet stayed he not there, for he did not dare
      To cross the word "_begone!_"
    The wretch felt not for others' woes,
      No soul in his body dwelt;
    The trembling sprite took a final flight--
    Though he seemed to live--on the dismal night
      When he first to the gold-god knelt.

    In a village near, his sister lay
      At the door of the demon death;
    _Starving_ was written on her brow,
      And hot was her fevered breath:
    "_Oh, give me bread!_" in accents low,
      Was the burden of her prayer--
    "_I'm dying, brother!_" 'twas even so;
    While her eye was glazing, the miser's "_No!_"
      Startled the chilly air.

    Cheerily rang the Sabbath bells,
      And from each hush'd abode
    The aged sire, and the cheerful child
      Moved on to the house of God;
    While prayer was ascending towards the Throne,
      The miser also prayed;
    To his golden altar he bowed, alone,
    And prayed from out his heart of stone
      That his god would lend him aid.

    He lieth upon the bed of death,
      And alone he pines away;
    As dieth the fool, so passeth his breath,
      And clay is mingled with clay;
    No marble is there to mark the spot,
      No flowret weeps o'er his tomb;
    Unwept, unhonored, and forgot,
    Ay, none can weep that he there doth rot--
      The miser has gone to his doom!

    Oh, ye who roll in splendor and wealth
      Go to the poor man's home;
    Comfort the sick--employ your gold
      As gain for the world to come;
    And the widow's heart shall leap for joy,
      And the orphan upon your bier,
    When the summons bears you from earth away
    To dwell in the mansions of endless day,
      Shall pour the sorrowing tear.



    A sculptured cenotaph thy sons will raise,
      That they eternize may thy honored name;
    Nor this, nor Story's scroll can tell thy praise,
      So blended with thy glorious country's fame.
    Lo! in a corner of Mount Vernon's field,
      Past which Potomac's peaceful waters flow,
    Reclined hast thou upon thy sacred shield,
      To sleep till the archangel's trumpet blow.
    Around thy lone and ever-honored grave,
      The Muses of thy noble country sing,
    While the tall corn in plenty still shall wave,
      To speak of Peace thy valiant sword did bring.
    Rest peacefully, then, Patriot, Hero, Sage,
    Best, brightest name to grace fair Clio's sacred page.


    I saw a smiling little boy,
      Not to childish pastime given;
    His countenance radiant with joy,
      He seemed just ripe for Heaven.
    I asked, "Where are thy parents dear?
      Hast thou from them been riven?"
    He said, "My parents are not here,
      They have gone home to heaven."
    A year had sped--I passed that way
    On the eve of a balmy autumn day;
    I asked, "Where is the charming orphan boy,
    With face so radiant with joy?
    Is he to the cold world driven?"
    The answer was, "He had gone home to Heaven."



    Hear you not the night-wind moaning,
      Sadly moaning all the time,
    Like a spirit doomed to wander
      O'er the earth for some dark crime?

    Round the door it ever lingers,
      Calling mortal aid in vain,
    And with gaunt and spectral fingers,
      Feebly knocks upon the pane.

    Love I well to hear it wailing,
      And I listen, pensively;
    Strange sad thoughts, unearthly dreamings,
      Mournfully it wakes in me.

    Such a night did Edna leave us,
      When she with Lord Ronald fled;
    Better, ere she thus had grieved us,
      She was numbered with the dead.

    Yet my mother, we'd forgive her
      Did she seek her home at last,
    Kindly in our arms receive her,
      Bidding her forget the past.

    Ah! she loved Lord Ronald truly;
      She was young and sweetly fair;
    Loved--and we were all forgotten--
      When Lord Ronald tarried here.

    Dost remember, mother dearest,
      The sad day before she went,
    How the fleetly passing moments
      By thy side she fondly spent?

    And I marked her, mother dearest,
      When was said the soft "good-night,"
    How her cheek so sadly faded--
      Faded to a marble white.

    To her door I followed gently,
      Raised the latch, and in I went,
    And the thoughts that so oppressed me
      Found in gushing tears a vent.

    "Jessie, Jessie," murmured Edna,
      "Weeping sister! Why is this?"
    And she pressed with gentle fondness
      On my brow a soothing kiss.

    Spoke I not. My heart was breaking
      'Neath some vague, uncertain woe;
    Wept I, on her breast reclining,
      Mother--and I slumbered so.

    When from out that sleep, awaking,
      I upon her pillow lay,
    Through the half-divided curtain
      Faintly streamed the dawning day.

    Then we missed her. Oh, my mother,
      Who our woe's excess can speak!
    Not a father, not a brother--
      Who the loved and lost could seek.

    Mother dearest, you are weeping!
      Why did I remembrance wake?
    I should bear my grief in silence,
      Oh, my mother, for thy sake.

    Listen listen! on the night-blast
      Heard you not a well-known tone?
    Oh, it seemed so much, my mother,
      Like my sister Edna's own!

    There are feet upon the threshold!
      And a hand is on the door--
    Mother! mother!--it is Edna,
      Coming back to us once more!

    "Oh, forgive me! Oh, forgive me!"
      Thus my sister Edna prayed--
    "Oh, forgive me!" "Edna! Edna!"
      That was all my mother said.

    But she oped her arms unto her,
      Drew her upward to her breast,
    And in fair and tearful beauty
      Bowed that gentle head to rest.

    "Well I loved Lord Ronald, mother,
      Ay, far better than my life;
    Home I come to thee," said Edna,
      "Proudly his acknowledged _wife_.

    "Cared he not for rank or station,
      But a loving heart sought he;
    Mother, sister, love my husband--
      See, he claims it now of ye."

    Turned we then. He stood beside us,
      Bending low with manly grace,
    With his soul's true love for Edna
      Lighting up his noble face.

    We are happy, I and mother,
      Now that all our care has gone;
    Ever seems it like a shadow
      Scarcely cast ere it had flown.



    The flag that floats above us, boys,
      So proudly in the gale,
    Old Neptune never yet had seen,
      When first I clewed a sail;
    St. George's cross flamed o'er the seas
      With undisputed sway,
    With English oak, and British tars,
      Beneath it, in that day.

    The Stars and Stripes above us, boys,
      Since then have been unfurled;
    In tempest tried, baptized in blood;
      'Tis the pride of Ocean-world!
    And freer, nobler hearts sustain
      Your banner floating proud;
    Than e'er before Atlantic bore,
      Or wrapped in seaman's shroud.

    The glorious flag above us, boys,
      Was ne'er disgraced in fight;
    No foeman ever saw it struck,
      But dearly bought the sight;
    Wherever prow has cleft the waves,
      In every zone and sea,
    'Tis known and honored as the flag
      Of a nation brave and free.



    Oh! remember the poor, said a sad little voice,
      As the shadow of evening grew dim,
    And the thick, heavy snow-flakes fell silently down,
      Benumbing each half-covered limb;

    Oh! remember the poor, and the face of the child
      Was as white as the thick-falling snow,
    And my heart, how it readily aided my hand,
      In the little I had to bestow!

    A smile checked the tear in her dim, sunken eye,
      As she clasped the small alms in her hand,
    And I thought what a joy in this bright world of ours,
      The wealthy might have at command;

    To purchase a smile from a grief-stricken heart,
      To chase back the tear ere 'tis shed,
    To call a glad look to a wan, saddened face,
      With a pittance that scarce would buy bread.

    Oh think, ye glad children of affluence, think,
      As ye sit by the firelight's glow,
    Yes, think, as it gleams on your carpeted floor,
      Of the poor little feet in the snow.

    Yes, think, as those gems glitter bright on thy hand,
      With a light from the diamond's mine,
    Of the little blue fingers benumbed with the cold,
      That else were as dainty as thine.

    God fashioned thee both--the poor, shivering child,
      Alone in the cold winter night,
    Who begs for its bread, and the pampered, who bask
      Forever in luxury's light.

    Then "remember the poor," for their wants are but few;
      Let thy _much_ but a _little_ insure
    To the needy; the world will be better, by far,
      When the rich shall remember the poor.



    Fair as Lucrece, and as serenely cold,
      Art thou, sweet maiden, with thine eyes of blue;
    Thy tresses long, in bands of burnished gold,
      Cast shadows o'er a cheek of rose-leaf hue.

    The silken lashes of those violet eyes
      Droop with a sunny curve from snowy lid,
    Half shading all the purity that lies
      Within their quiet depths so sweetly hid.

    The matchless arching of thy coral lip,
      The glittering pearl thy smile discloses,
    Thy mouth, fresh as the dew the flowers sip,
      And redolent of sweets as budding roses.

    Too fair for my unskilful hand to trace!
      Never a poet could thy charms combine,
    Nor artist draw thee in thy winning grace
      Unless a monarch of his art divine.

    For such a boon, how dare my heart aspire?
      Trembling, I bring its wealth of love to thee,
    No Persian worshipper of flaming fire
      E'er bent his god a more devoted knee.



    Is this dying? round me gathers
      Such a silent, countless throng,
    Beaming on me smiles that beckon,
      As if I with them belong.

    This is dying! raise my pillow;
      Come and kiss me, mother dear;
    When I'm gone away you'll miss me,
      But for me weep not a tear.

    Is this dying? waters rolling
      Bear me on to yonder shore,
    Love to Christ my bark has freighted,
      Not a billow surges o'er.

    This is dying! pain, returning,
      Shows how nature clings to earth,
    While the prisoned soul is panting
      For the clime that gave it birth.

    Is this dying? strains of music
      Seem upon the air to float,
    Such could only come from angels,
      And I almost catch the note.

    Now my crown and harp are coming,
      Borne by seraphs' hands along,
    And a robe of whitest linen
      Clothes me like the angel throng.

    Is this dying? pain may writhe me,
      But has Death not lost his sting?
    And since Christ has gone to glory,
      Death is but a conquered king!



    Oh! beautiful Gánd'hraj! sweet is thy breath;
    Thou art pale, too, as bearing the impress of Death,
    Like the velvety touch of the Kokila's[B] wing,
    Or the flakes that the snow-spirits playfully fling,
    Are thy robings unstained by a glance from the sun;
    To me thou art welcome, my beautiful one!

    Like a penitent nun at the hour of prayer,
    Thou inclinest to earth, though no shrive-priest be there,
    Pale, innocent darling! would we were as pure,
    Then ours the blessings that ever endure.
    Gaze not downward so sadly, still bloom on thy stem,
    Thou Nature's adornment! sweet, pearly-hued gem!

    The fibre that links thee to life, ah! how slight!
    The dealings of Death with the flowers are light;
    The delicate tintings that vein thy array
    Must be changed ere the scene dons its mantle of gray,
    And heavenly ones thy aroma will bear
    Away to the gardens more pure and more fair.

    As the moon-ray dissolves on the lake's tranquil breast,
    Or the morn-mists float off to their home in the west;
    Like the iris that gladdens a moment our eyes,
    With its colors prismatic, then blends with the skies,
    Such peaceful and holy departure is thine;
    Euthanasia like this, sweetest flow'ret, be mine!


[Footnote A: Gardenia florida.]

[Footnote B: The Kokila, or Koil, is the Indian Cuckoo.]


(_See Plate._)

Our readers will notice that the models for parlor window drapery are,
as usual, furnished by Mr. W. H. Carryl, who is rare authority in
such matters. Draperies arranged by him are shutting out the cold air
from northern firesides, and excluding the already fervent glow of a
southern sun. His constantly increasing, establishment is filled with
busy workmen; and the choicest materials that are manufactured abroad,
whether in silk or lace, are to be found among his importations. Among
the public calls upon his taste and skill, we notice particularly the
fitting up of the La Pierre House, the new and model Philadelphia
hotel; and, still more recently, the draperies of the State House at

The La Pierre is situated on Broad, our finest street, and was opened
to the public the past October. It is not one of the mammoth toy-shops
now so much the rage, where everything is too fine to use, and comfort
is swallowed up in carving and gilding. Comfort is, in fact, the
distinguishing characteristic of the La Pierre, the rooms being of an
inhabitable size, and furnished with united neatness and elegance,
giving the traveller a cheerful welcome and a homelike feeling. To this
the draperies of Mr. Carryl, which are found all through the house,
even in the fifth story, contribute; for it is now an undisputed axiom
in decorating, that nothing goes so far as curtains in furnishing a
room. On the principal floor, we find the drawing-room windows draped
with crimson, garnet, and gold brocatelle, finished by heavy cornices
and the richest corresponding decorations, as will be seen in Fig.
1. which is nearly identical with the style. Of course, there are
exquisite lace curtains, as in the plate, falling below. The reading
and sitting-rooms, appropriated to the gentlemen, are made cheerful
by crimson brocatelle draperies, while the tea-room is distinguished
by the heavy green lambrequins, with their rich bullion fringe. It
would take a practised eye to detect it from gold bullion, so perfect
is the imitation. The effect, especially in the evening, is precisely
the same. In the elegant suite of parlors on the second floor, Mr.
Carryl has placed curtains of brocatelle, crimson, yellow, and green
and gold, equally rich and suited to the style of the apartments, as in
the drawing-room below (see Fig. 2); while throughout the bed-chambers,
many entire suites, curtains of Paris stripe, in _satin laine_, give
the cheerful aspect we at first noticed.

The bridal chamber--that modern abomination to good taste and common
sense, yet demanded by the fashion of hotels--is, of course, the
_chef-d'œuvre_ of the whole house. Mr. Carryl has chosen "celestial
_rosy_ red, love's proper hue," instead of the pure white of the St.
Nicholas, or the staring yellow of the Metropolitan, for the draperies
of the apartment. A _rose_ red, be it understood, of the most delicate
shade, softened still more by the pure transparency of the lace
embroideries falling from the rich canopy above the bed, or shrouding
the broad arch that divides the two apartments--a triumphal arch to Mr.
Carryl's decorative art. The whole house is decorated in good keeping
with the already far-famed character of this luxurious hotel, which may
be justly regarded as one of the most fashionable and distinguished in
the United States.

The State House at Harrisburg is fitted from drawings made expressly
for it, in a style now become classic in public buildings. The deep
crimson India damask of our grandmothers' times, lined with white
India silk--the most judicious choice, as it never grows yellow by
age--is disposed in full folds above the Speaker's chair; and from
these, which take the place of a lambrequin in a modern curtain, falls
a similar heavy drapery to the floor. The whole is surmounted by a
superbly carved eagle in gilt, with expanded wings, done expressly
for Mr. Carryl from a life model. The curtains of the windows are
to be in the same rich and simple style, and the clock has also a
decorative drapery. The whole is arranged with a classic taste far
more appropriate to the hall than modern French fripperies, and will
add much to Mr. Carryl's rapidly growing celebrity in this branch of
domestic art. Mr. Carryl has also furnished the State House at Austin,
Texas, with rich brocatelle hangings, diversified with emblems and
mottoes of the Southern State of the Gulf, all finished in superb style.

Through the very extensive establishment of Mr. Carryl, No. 169
Chestnut Street, our Southern and Western merchants can conveniently
fill their orders for curtains and trimmings, gilt ornaments, &c.,
being sure to get the newest styles and the best qualities. The height
from _floor_ to top of _window-frame_, and width of frame at the top,
should always accompany an order.


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

[Illustration: THE SALAMANCA.]

The engravings presented this month are so very dear in the design,
that any person at all conversant with the fabrication of garments can
construct either of them without the aid of any special information.
We, however, will merely say that


Is composed of maroon or black satin. The skirt is set in box plaits
upon the yoke in the back; it is plain in front. The yoke is deep,
and is pointed in front. The sleeves are flowing. A trimming of very
deep black lace (from ten to twelve inches) ornaments the skirt and
the bottom of the yoke. The whole is finished by a neat ornament made
of a succession of small loops of No. 6 satin ribbon terminating in


(_See Plate in front of Book._)

Consists of three three-quarter circular capes upon a circular skirt.
The first is plain, the others full, and are of equal depth. The
skirt, however, is about one-third less in depth below the capes than
they are with each other. It may be constructed of cloth, but the
one illustrated is of royal purple velvet, edged around each cape
with royal ermine six inches wide. The bottom of the skirt, however,
is wider, the fur there being eight inches. It is lined with white
enamelled satin.



This dress, which is a combination of the "Polka Jacket" and ordinary
dress, is exceedingly pretty and elegant, and well calculated to show
off the figure to advantage. It is made up in silk or French merino,
and the trimming consists of broad ribbon velvet, about an inch in
width, of the same color as the dress, or one in good contrast. To
those who are averse to wearing the jacket as a single garment, this
may form a pleasing substitute.


Fig. 1.--The front of body--the trimming to be brought up in the form
of stomacher.

Fig. 2.--Back of body. Join _a_ to _a_ (Fig. 1), _b_ to _b_, _c_ to
_c_, _d_ to _d_.

[Illustration: Fig. 3.--Jacket. Join _e_ to _e_ (Fig. 1) _f_ to _f_
(Fig. 2). Fig. 4.--Sleeve.]



[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

[Illustration: Fig. 3.]

Fig. 1, it will be seen, approaches more to the style of the pelisse
than the mantilla, a fashion that bids fair to be quite general the
entire winter for outside garments, or _pardessus_, as the French call
them. This, however, is intended for the milder season of spring, being
made of rich violet-colored taffeta, trimmed with bows of thick satin
ribbon, the same shade in front, and encircled by two falls of black

Figs. 2 and 3 are breakfast caps, Fig. 2 being intended for a bride
or young married lady, being composed of lace and close bows of
rose-colored satin ribbon; the cap fits close to the head, a fall of
broad ribbon coming behind the ear.

Fig. 3 is more novel in shape, and intended for an older person, the
trimming encircling the face.



    _Materials._--Black satin, three shades of green chenille, gold
    twist, and gold beads.

Work the shamrock with the green chenille, veining the leaves with
gold twist; the foliage in the background is also worked with green
chenille. The frame-work of the harp is executed with beads, and the
strings with twist. The wolf-hound is worked with brown chenille in
embroidery stitch, as also are the stems of the shamrock and foliage.







    _Materials._--French muslin, with royal embroidery cotton, No. 30,
    and Moravian, No. 24.

This engraving is on a scale just half the size of the original
pattern. It is so strong that it is peculiarly adapted for jupons,
which are worn, generally, most elaborately trimmed. The edge, which
consists of a single scallop, is considerably raised; the Moravian
cotton is to be used for this purpose. The wheels are all worked round
in button-hole stitch, over a tracing of three threads, a rosette being
in the centre of each. Indeed, if the entire pattern be overcast,
instead of being sewed in the usual way, it will contribute much to the
durability as well as the appearance of the work.


(_See Blue Plate in front of Book._)

    _Material._--French embroidery cotton, No. 20.

This description of work, now so extremely fashionable for every
description of dress, is usually done on fine jacconet muslin; and, to
prepare the pattern, either of the following methods may be used: Place
the muslin over the pattern, taking care to keep it even and tight;
then, with a fine camel-hair brush, and a solution of indigo or powder
blue, mixed with gum-water, copy the outline of the pattern, and, to
continue it, take care, after one length of the design is drawn, to
place the muslin so that the pattern joins correctly. The other method,
which is useful for thicker material--take the design, and, with a fine
penknife or scissors, cut out the blue parts of the pattern, place it
over the material to be used, and trace it round the cut-out parts as
above directed; pierce the small eyelet-hole with a stiletto. When the
pattern is prepared, tack the muslin on a piece of oil-cloth (green
is the best color to work on for all descriptions of embroidery); run
twice round the outline of the pattern with the cotton used double,
and join the open spaces, cut a small piece out of the centre of the
rounds and ovals, and, with the single cotton, work the edges in
overcast stitch--the cotton run round, and the edges cut, forming the
foundation. In the parts between the ovals and rounds, when there is
only a small division of muslin, the whole should be overcast so as
to form one bar between the open spaces. Repeat the same for the ovals
which form the scallop round the outer edge, the diamonds of twelve
ovals, and the rounds which form the Vandykes. The remainder of the
pattern is worked in the same manner; but, instead of the overcast
stitch, the open spaces are to be sewn thickly over. A small portion
only of the pattern should be cut out at a time; and, should the design
be worked on a fine material, use cotton No. 24 or 30.



    _Materials._--French muslin, with embroidery cottons, Nos. 70 and
    50; and boar's head sewing cotton, No. 90.

As the popularity of embroidery in muslin has become greater during
the past year than it had been for a long period previous to it, so
the skill of the majority of lady-workers has greatly increased; and
we can now venture on presenting them with designs of a more elaborate
nature than we have hitherto done, in the hope that our friends will
be tempted, by the novel style of the pattern, to try the effect of a
blending of the open work with satin-stitch.

The medallions are given of the full size, and any number may be used
for a collar, according to the taste of the wearer. One half must fall
in one direction, and the other half in the opposite one. Perhaps the
design may appear hardly deep enough to those who are accustomed to the
outrageous size of some of the mousquetaire collars; but very large
collars are entirely exploded, and the dimensions of this now given are
quite in accordance with the mode.

The design is so clearly seen in the engraving that no description of
it is required. The finest embroidery cotton is to be used for the
satin-stitch, and for sewing round the eyelet-holes; the coarser for
the button-hole stitch; the boar's head cotton for the herring-bone.


Our American Peripatetics--that is, travelling lecturers--are now,
and have been since last October, in full voice among us. To number
the amount of "good sentences and well pronounced" uttered by these
popular instructors during the season, would require the assistance of
a calculating machine. Let us hope the effect of all this speechifying
may be salutary. At any rate, none will deny that the general tendency
of this mode of evening entertainments is innocent, and if the
knowledge thus acquired is not of great amount, the love of knowledge
is warmed into new life, and the desire to improve awakened; and then,
women are admitted to these lessons of literature and philosophy, a
vital improvement on the Aristotelian platform. Let the educator be
rightly instructed--woman is the educator of the race--and who shall
set bounds to the progress of humanity? But the lectures--among those
we have heard or read, as reported for the press, none pleased us
better than one on Poetry, by Mr. Saxe; one on "Books," by Mr. Giles;
and the series on "The Poetry of Poets," by Dr. Holmes. The lecture on
"Books" was, perhaps, the most original, and a few paragraphs we will
select as illustrative of the style and tone of thought.

       *       *       *       *       *

_The Power of Books._--"Fragments of divine biography swept away the
bloody power of the Cæsars, and books may set in action the most
resistless natures--overturn and obliterate empires. The elements,
even, are weak to what a book may be. The most accessible, the most
manageable, it may possess that which will change nations, and make
empires disappear.

       *       *       *       *       *

"When we inquire what it is that causes the words of men to live upon
the earth after they have departed, we may say, Truth; but that is
undefinable: but if we could arrive at the greatest cause, we would
say, Humanity--those attributes which constitute man's universal nature.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Of Books, good and bad._--"A good book is among the best of good
things, and its contents are embalmed and treasured up 'to life above
life.' Good is not alone that which is fact, but that which gives
impulse--which does not flatter into content, but quickens into
inspiration; and while a good book is the best of good things, a bad
book is the worst of bad things. But we must take a free literature
with its imperfections as well as its advantages, for an inquisition
of literature would be no more tolerable than an inquisition of
religion. Preaching, even, on bad books is worse than vain--it only
advertises them, and makes the hearer eager to read and examine their
contents, for how can the preacher know that it is a bad book unless
he reads it? and why are his hearers not as capable to judge as well
as himself? The true guard against them is education, and the next
step is to treat them with silence and contempt. There are those who
desire a book as a living companion of the mind; and to such, a good
work is society to his loneliness--a balm to his troubles--a friend to
the friendless--wealth to the poor, and moreover, can keep the mind in
action though the body dies.

       *       *       *       *       *

_The Pleasures of Books._--"There is a joy in books which those alone
can know who read them with desire and with enthusiasm; as from time
to time there were books which created order out of disorder, and made
states, and shaped empires. By books we can accompany the traveller,
and take a voyage with the navigator, see what they have seen, and thus
go back to other days, and other times; can listen to eloquence which
was not so much the thought, of man as of nations, and read speeches
of men who incarnate whole civilized nations in their views--whose
impulse was the common heart. There is a genius for reading as well
as for writing, and there are probably as few successful readers as
writers--that is, those who come in material relation to the meaning of
the author; for, without imbibing the spirit of the writer, there can
be no criticism."


Among the books of interest lately published, we must place the last
work[C] by Miss Bremer, which needs to be read in the spirit of the
writer--that is, in the love of the true and the good, which she deeply
manifests, in order to be justly appreciated. We gave in our last
number a short notice of this remarkable work, intending to prepare
a longer critique for this month; and regret we have been hindered
from completing our intention. But as the work cannot now be readily
obtained, our readers who have not read it, will, we are sure, be
gratified by a few selections expressive of Miss Bremer's opinions
concerning the position, prospects, and progress of American women.

       *       *       *       *       *

_The Ideal of Man and Woman in America._--"The ideal of the men of
America seems to me to be, purity of intention, decision in will,
energy in action, simplicity and gentleness in demeanor. Hence it is
that there is something tender and chivalric in his behavior to women,
which is infinitely becoming to him. In every woman he respects his own

"In the same way it appeared to me that the ideal of the women of
America, of the women of the New World, is independence in character,
gentleness of demeanor and manner. The American's ideal of happiness
seems to me to be, marriage and home, combined with public activity.

"Of the American home, I have seen enough and heard enough for me to be
able to say that the women have, in general, all the rule there that
they wish to have. Woman is the centre and lawgiver in the homes of the
New World, and the American man loves that it should be so. I must,
however, say, that in the happy homes in which I lived, I saw the wife
equally careful to guide herself by the wishes of her husband, as he
was to indulge her; affection and sound reason make all things equal."

       *       *       *       *       *

_Female Education in America._--"The educational institutions for
women are, in general, much superior to those of Europe, and perhaps
the most important work which America is doing for the future of
humanity, consists in her treatment and education of woman. Woman's
increasing value as a _teacher_, and the employment of her as such
in public schools, even in those for boys, is a public fact in these
States; which greatly delights me. Seminaries have been established
to educate her for this vocation. It even seems as if the daughters
of New England had a peculiar faculty and love for this employment.
Young girls of fortune devote themselves to it. The daughters of poor
farmers go to work in the manufactories a sufficient time to earn the
necessary sum to put themselves to school, and thus to become teachers
in due course. Whole crowds of school teachers go from New England to
the Western and Southern States, where schools are established and
placed under their direction. In the schools for young ladies, they
learn the classics, mathematics, physics, algebra, with great case, and
pass their examination like young men. Not long since, a young lady in
Nantucket,[D] not far from Boston, distinguished herself in astronomy;
discovered a new planet, and received in consequence a medal from the
King of Denmark."--Vol. i. pp. 190, 191.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Woman the Physician for her own Sex._--"When one reflects how
important for future generations is the proper estimation of the woman
and the child, how much depends upon diet, upon that fostering which
lies beyond the sphere of the physician and his oversight, and which
woman alone can rightly understand, who can doubt the importance of the
female physician, in whose case science steps in to aid natural sense,
and to constitute her the best helper and counsellor of women and
children? That women have a natural feeling and talent for the vocation
of physician, is proved by innumerable instances from the experience of
all ages and people, and it is a shame and a pity that men have not,
hitherto, permitted these to be developed by science.

       *       *       *       *       *

"In the old times, the physician was also the priest, and consecrated
to holy mysteries. The descendants of Æsculapius were considered a
holy race, and among them were also women; the daughter of Æsculapius
Hygeia, one of them, was called the Goddess of Health. Of this race
came Hippocrates. We now talk about Hygeia, but we only talk. She must
be recalled to earth, she must have room given her, and justice done
her, if she is to present the earth with a new Hippocrates."--Vol. i.
pp. 143, 144.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Family Affections in America._--"The family relationship between
parents and children seems to me particularly beautiful, especially
as regards the parents towards the children. The beautiful maternal
instinct is inborn in the American woman, at least, in all its fervent,
heart-felt sentiment; and better and more affectionate family-fathers
than the men of America, I have seen no where in the world. They
have in particular a charming weakness for--daughters, and God bless
them for it! I hope the daughters may know how to return it with
interest."--Vol. i. p. 337.

       *       *       *       *       *

_The American Thanksgiving._--"After breakfast, we went to church, for
this day (Thanksgiving) is as sacred throughout the country.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Why have not we, why have not all people such a festival in the year?
It has grown here out of the necessities of the nobler popular heart;
it is the ascribing of our highest earthly blessings to their heavenly
Giver. We, in Sweden, have many publicly appointed days for prayer, but
none for Thanksgiving; it is not right and noble."

       *       *       *       *       *

Such was Miss Bremer's appreciation of our Thanksgiving Festival,
and thus it will be approved and followed in all Christendom, when
the popular heart and voice shall bear sway. A national Thanksgiving
Day!--If this could once be established in our own land, Americans
would soon introduce its observance and cheerful festivities into
every part of the world where they are found, and thus, our American
Thanksgiving would be the example for all people.

_The last Thursday in November_ has these advantages--harvests of all
kinds are then gathered in--summer travellers have returned to their
homes--the diseases that, during summer and early autumn, often afflict
some portions of our country, have ceased, and all are prepared to
enjoy a day of Thanksgiving. The unanimity was nearly perfect last
November; still it would be better to have the _day_ so fixed by the
expression of public sentiment that no discord would be possible,
but, from Maine to Mexico, from Plymouth Rock to Sunset Sea, the hymn
of thanksgiving should be simultaneously raised, as the pledge of
brotherhood in the enjoyment of God's blessings during the year. How
this national festival can be made sure, we must leave to those who
have the guidance of public affairs; but we do earnestly desire to see
the _last Thursday in November_ become the fixed time for this American

       *       *       *       *       *

A TRUE HEROINE.--Margaret of Valois, sister of Francis I. of France,
was the most celebrated woman of the seventeenth century, and
deservedly esteemed for her piety as well as great talents. Theodore
de Bèze thus eulogizes Margaret: "Her name is worthy of perpetual
honor, on account of her piety and the holy zeal she manifested for the
advancement and preservation of the Church of God, so that to her we
owe the life of many a good man."

To Margaret, also, is due the glory of elucidating the true principles
of royal government, which no man of that age understood or taught.
She says: "Kings and princes are not the masters and lords of the
multitude, but only ministers whom God has established to serve and
protect them."

       *       *       *       *       *

AN EXCELLENT EXAMPLE.--A school for street children has recently been
established in Brooklyn, N. Y., by an association of ladies, which is
supported entirely by voluntary contribution. In order to induce the
children to attend regularly, a good dinner is provided every day. The
number of scholars--all girls--at the present time, is thirty.

This plan might be adopted in every city, and thus the saddest sorrow
of humanity, the sufferings of childhood from the want, ignorance, or
wickedness of their parents be greatly alleviated. Christian ladies of
Philadelphia, will you not enter on this good work?

       *       *       *       *       *

TO CORRESPONDENTS.--The following articles are accepted, and will
appear as we have room: "Vesuvius," "Niagara," "Little Effie," "The
Maniac's Parting Salute," "The Lady Doctor," "A Patient of the Insane
Hospital," "The Last Banquet of the Girondists," "The Wanderer's
Return," "The Was, and the Is," "I was robbed of my Spirit's Love,"
"Mary," and "Home, Sister, Home."

The following articles are declined: "Idylls," "The Venetian Girl,"
"I'm Sad," "Woman's Heart," "André's Prayer to Washington," "The
Angel's Whisper," "Lines to a Bride," "True Love for True Love," "Cui
Bono?" "The Future," "A Tradition of Sicily," and "Morning Dreams."

A number of articles on hand have not been examined, for want of time.
The writers will, we trust, wait patiently another month.


[Footnote C: "Homes of the New World;" published by the Harpers--and
the last edition destroyed by the fire that consumed their warehouses.]

[Footnote D: Miss Mitchell. See "Woman's Record," by Mrs. Hale.]

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 HENRY CAREY BAIRD (successor to E. L. Carey), No. 7 Hart's
Buildings, Sixth Street above Chestnut, Philadelphia:--

SPECIMENS OF THE BRITISH POETS; _with Biographical and Critical
Notices, and an Essay on English Poetry_. By Thomas Campbell, Esq.
This is a new edition, revised and with additional notes, of a work
which has long since passed the ordeal of criticism unscathed. Nothing
more remains to us, therefore, than to notice the beautiful appearance
of the present edition, with its appropriate illustrations, elegant
binding, and attractive typography. But of this few need be told. Mr.
Baird's poetical publications are already celebrated.

       *       *       *       *       *

From BLANCHARD & LEA, Philadelphia:--

William B. Carpenter, M. D., F. R. S., Examiner in Physiology in the
University of London, Professor of Medical Jurisprudence in University
College, etc. With a preface by D. F. Condie, M. D., Secretary of the
College of Physicians of Philadelphia, etc. The author of this essay
takes strong ground against the habitual use of alcoholic liquors,
even in moderate quantities. Medically, he favors their employment
in certain cases; but with the same precautions that are observed
in administering "any other powerful remedy which is poisonous in
large doses." With a view to its circulation as an auxiliary in the
temperance cause, Dr. Condie, the American editor, has added to the
popular elements of the work by explaining concisely, yet clearly, its
technical language; while Messrs. Blanchard & Lea have prepared copies
in flexible cloth, suitable for mailing, which they will forward, free
of postage, to any part of the United States, on receipt of fifty
cents. For $30, one hundred copies may be obtained, the purchaser to
pay freight charges.

D., Prebendary of St. Paul's, and Professor of Classical Literature in
King's College, London. Unlike the generality of works of its class,
this volume is not made up wholly of the names of authors and the
titles of their works. These, however, it does not omit; but there is
nothing dry or uninteresting in their enumeration. Well adapted for the
use of classes in schools, it need not be shunned by such readers as
desire a graceful style and entertaining narrative, while they would be
fully informed with regard to the subject upon which it treats.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

LINES FOR THE GENTLE AND LOVING. By Thomas MacKellar. A modest-looking,
but charmingly printed little collection of unpretending poems, which,
though they may not possess the sublimer elements of poesy, are
nevertheless well calculated to touch the heart and excite it to tender
and generous action.

Thomson, M. D. First American from the last London edition. Revised,
with additions, by Henry H. Smith, M. D. A work of this kind should
be found in every family. It would prove an invaluable assistant to
a mother, or those who have the care of the family. Diseases are
described simply and clearly; all the ordinary medicines are treated
of, and their use explained; and, although it by no means takes the
place of the physician, yet it would be of great use in an innumerable
number of cases, especially where the aid and advice of a medical
practitioner cannot be readily obtained. The names of the compiler and
editor are a sufficient guarantee for the correctness of the work.

       *       *       *       *       *

From LINDSAY & BLAKISTON, Philadelphia:--

THE PHYSIOLOGY OF TASTE; _or, Transcendental Gastronomy. Illustrated
by Anecdotes of Distinguished Artists and Statesmen of both Continents
(Europe and America)_. By Brillat Savarin. Translated from the
last Paris edition, by Fayette Robinson. A book for epicureans,
gastronomists, and the admirers of Parisian wit; but one which, with
all its peculiar merits, we cannot consider an extremely desirable
addition to our translated literature.

       *       *       *       *       *

From LEARY & GETZ, No. 138 North Second Street, Philadelphia:--

THE LIFE AND SPEECHES OF HENRY CLAY. Two volumes in one. In this
very heavy volume of more than a thousand pages, we have a succinct
narrative, somewhat partisan in its tone, of the career of the great
statesman and orator, together with full and correct reports of all his
more important speeches, from that "On the Line of the Perdido," to the
later effort in support of the "Compromise Bills."

       *       *       *       *       *

From WILLIS P. HAZARD, No. 178 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia:--

THE AMERICAN FAMILY ROBINSON; _or, the Adventures of a Family Lost in
the Great Desert of the West_. By D. W. Belisle. With illustrations.
Aside from its interest as a tale abounding in strange and stirring
adventures, with which the young cannot fail to be delighted, this
volume will prove attractive to "the larger growth" of children, as one
imparting in a pleasant way all the existing knowledge with regard to
those antiquities of the Great West which render it wellnigh certain
that those wilds were once peopled--centuries ago, perhaps--with a race
infinitely more cultivated than the restless, barbarous tribes that now
wander there. Pleased with the design and execution of the literary
portion of this entertaining work, we must also notice the beautiful
appearance of its typography and binding, and the excellence of its
four steel plate illustrations.

       *       *       *       *       *

From D. APPLETON & CO., No. 200 Broadway, New York, through C. G.
HENDERSON & CO., corner of Fifth and Arch Streets, Philadelphia:--

AND PRACTICAL SYSTEM. By William S. Grayson. The author of this
volume displays much ingenuity of argument and originality of thought
in his discussion of questions so momentous as those of man's fall,
redemption, and free moral agency. His "object," he informs us, "has
been primarily to reconcile the philosophy of reason with the spiritual
laws of the Gospel."

THE HEARTH-STONE: _Thoughts upon Home-Life in our Cities_. By Samuel
Osgood, author of "Studies in Christian Biography," "God with Men; or,
Footprints of Providential Leaders," etc. Mr. Osgood's reflections
show him to be a man of kindly feelings, Christian sympathy, and
cultivated intellect. His book is a most acceptable one. None who love
the peaceful joys and quiet beauties of home should be without it.

THE INVALID'S OWN BOOK: _a Collection of Recipes from various Books and
various Countries_. By the Hon. Lady Cust. In its peculiar province,
this is an invaluable little book.

A WEEK'S DELIGHT; _or, Games and Stories for the Parlor and Fireside_.
Prepared for the use of the young. This volume of entertaining games
and stories will, we doubt not, find a welcome reception in families
who love their children, and wish them to enjoy themselves innocently.

       *       *       *       *       *


Christianity, Creed, and Proclamations of the Insurgents_. By MM.
Callery and Yvan. Translated from the French, with a supplementary
chapter, narrating the most recent events, by John Oxenford. With a
fac-simile of a Chinese map of the course of the insurrection, and a
portrait of Tien-Te, its Chief. Probably no movement of modern times
presents so important an aspect as that of the revolution now going on
in the great empire of the "Celestials." To those desiring information
with regard to its origin, leaders, and progress, the work under notice
will prove interesting and acceptable.

THE CZAR AND THE SULTAN; _or, Nicholas and Abdul Medjid: their Private
Lives and Public Actions_. By Adrian Gilson. To which is added, "The
Turks in Europe: their Rise and Decadence." By Francis Bouvet. Like
the foregoing volume, this little work has been brought out to meet
the demand created by stirring events of the day. Giving a clear and
concise statement of the character and antecedents of the two monarchs,
upon whose doings the attention of half the world has of late been
riveted, it also contains an account of the past and present condition
of the Turkish empire, in which the manners, customs, and religion of
the people are treated of briefly, but comprehensively.

HISTORY OF GREECE. By George Grote, Esq. Vol. 11. Reprinted from the
London edition. In this volume, the learned historian brings down
his narrative to the death of Philip of Macedon. One other volume,
embracing the reign of Alexander, will conclude the work.

MEMOIRS OF JOHN ABERNETHY, F. R. S. _With a View of his Lectures,
Writings, and Character._ By George Macilwain, F. R. C. S., author
of "Medicine and Surgery," "One Inductive Science," etc. This work
the author confesses to have been a labor of love. Both his heart and
intellect were with the great physician, whose life and character
he has so skilfully delineated that, while the medical practitioner
cannot fail to peruse his account with profit, the general reader will
find himself continually and deeply interested in it. With regard to
Abernethy's rudeness, of which so many anecdotes have been related,
Professor Macilwain remarks: "His manner was at times, and in all
serious cases, and to hospital patients, as unaffectedly kind as could
be desired. On many occasions of minor import, his impulsiveness of
character led him to say things which, however much we may palliate,
we shall not attempt to excuse." But "his roughness was really
superficial. It was the easiest thing in the world to develop the real
kindness of heart which lay beneath it."

Autobiography and Journals_. Edited and compiled by Tom Taylor, of the
Inner Temple, Esq., late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge; and
late Professor of the English Language and Literature in University
College, London. "My task," says the editor of these two thick volumes,
"has been that of presenting the self-portraiture, which Haydon left
behind him, in such a light as may show the work intelligibly.... It is
not the biography of Haydon, but his _autobiography_--not a life of him
by me, but his life by himself." And, truly, Mr. Taylor has performed
his part with discrimination and judgment. Strangely interesting is
the record that has thus been given us of the great but unfortunate
painter's struggles through the world. Even as a study of character, it
will not lack readers.

and Journals of the late Lieutenant-General Sir Hudson Lowe, and
Official Documents not before made public._ By William Forsyth, M. A.,
author of "Hortensius," and "History of Trial by Jury;" late Fellow of
Trinity College, Cambridge. In two volumes. Nothing relative to the
first Napoleon, however trifling, can be valueless or unattractive.
The work before us is an important one, and of deep interest, inasmuch
as it is a very full, though not unprejudiced account of the captivity
and last days of the great Corsican. But, while acknowledging the
historical value of Mr. Forsyth's labors, we reserve to ourselves the
opinion that his special pleading in behalf of Sir Hudson Lowe and the
British government will fall far short of its intended effect.

       *       *       *       *       *

From M. W. DODD, opposite the City Hall, New York, through WILLIS P.
HAZARD, 176 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia:--

OLD SIGHTS WITH NEW EYES. By a Yankee. With an introduction by Robert
Baird, D. D. Written in a concise, plain, and yet graceful style, this
little volume of European travels will be found an entertaining and
useful guide to any one designing to pursue the route adopted by its
author; who, we are told, is a "young New England clergyman, whose
modesty" has constrained him from presenting his name to the public.

       *       *       *       *       *

From J. S. REDFIELD, 110 and 112 Nassau Street, New York, through W. B.
ZIEBER, Philadelphia:--

MINNESOTA AND ITS RESOURCES. To which are added Camp-Fire Sketches;
or, Notes of a Trip from St. Paul to Pembina and Selkirk Settlement on
the Red River of the North. By J. Wesley Bond. Lying along and around
the head waters of the Mississippi, the new Territory of Minnesota
offers one of the most attractive homes for emigration. For the variety
and picturesqueness of its scenery, the salubrity of its climate, and
the number and completeness of its agricultural advantages, it is
scarcely equalled by any other portion of our country. As containing
a comprehensive, clear, and pleasantly-written account of the past
history and present condition of Minnesota, the work before us will be
found indispensable by those designing to emigrate there, while the
general reader will derive from it much valuable information, with a
great deal that may prove entertaining.

A MONTH IN ENGLAND. By Henry T. Tuckerman. Favored by the completeness
of the railway system of England, Mr. Tuckerman was enabled to inspect
many more "specimens" of that country's peculiarities than we might
have expected him to do in so brief a visit. With quick and cultivated
powers of observation, refined in his tastes, well-informed in all that
relates to literature and art, and mastering an elegant style, he has
succeeded in investing his pen pictures of well-known scenes with all
the attractive brightness of novelty, yet retaining the mellow softness
of tone so well suited to the character of the subjects.

       *       *       *       *       *

From DERBY & MILLER, Auburn, New York, through T. B. PETERSON,

LITTLE FERNS. By Fanny Fern. We have received this most agreeable
little book, which is full of the peculiar characteristics of Fanny's
mode of writing. The work is worthy of her, and she has given us some
of the most beautiful children's stories we have ever read. The first
edition was 20,000. We presume now it is 40,000.

       *       *       *       *       *

From C. M. SAXTON, Agricultural Book Publisher, New York:--

LANDSCAPE GARDENING; _or, Parks and Pleasure Grounds. With Practical
Notes on Country Residences, Villas, Public Parks, and Gardens._ By
Charles H. G. Smith, Landscape Gardener, Garden Architect, etc. With
notes and additions. By Lewis F. Allen, author of "Rural Architecture,"
etc. We have already spoken favorably of this excellent and most
desirable volume. For the benefit of our distant subscribers, who may
wish to send for the work, we may state that its price is $1 25.

RURAL ARCHITECTURE. By Lewis F. Allen. Containing numerous designs for
cottage and other residences, farm-houses and out-buildings, carriage
and wagon-houses, stables, poultry-houses, piggery, barns, and sheds
for cattle. Also, the best method of conducting water into cattle-yards
and houses, &c. &c. Containing an immense number of designs beautifully
engraved. We can furnish our subscribers at $1 25. A very cheap work.

       *       *       *       *       *

From CHARLES SCRIBNER, Nassau Street, New York, through T. B. PETERSON,
102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia:--

UP THE RIVER. By F. W. Shelton, author of "Rector of St. Bardolph's,"
and "Salander the Dragon." With illustrations from original designs.
This is a series of letters professedly written from a country-seat,
"up the river," and somewhere in the vicinity of that most beautiful
portion of the Hudson, the Tappaan Sea. Suns setting lovely and
uprising gloriously, Shanghai chickens, cottages, pig-styes, cows,
horses, playful lambs, delightful landscapes, and all the pains,
pleasures, and occupations of rural life during the year, are here
talked of in the most natural way in the world; but in good taste
withal, and with hearty, genial, delicate humor. Nor are literary
topics left untouched; while, occasionally, a sage reflection is thrown
in unobtrusively, yet so as to attract thoughtful attention. The volume
will enhance the already high reputation of its author, and deserves,
as it will obtain, many and admiring readers.

       *       *       *       *       *

From CHARLES SCRIBNER, New York, through A. HART, Philadelphia:--

HEALTH TRIP TO THE TROPICS. By N. Parker Willis. We have here collected
and printed, in one elegant volume, the interesting letters, already
given to the public through the columns of the "Home Journal," which
were written by Willis during his "health trip" to the West Indies, and
to several of our western and north-western States. These letters bear
no evidence of their author's having been in any condition but that of
cheerful health, and contain many piquant reflections and observations,
along with much useful information with regard to the places and
peoples visited.

AUTUMN HOURS AND FIRESIDE READING. By Mrs. C. M. Kirkland. Such as are
so fortunate as to possess Mrs. Kirkland's two previous miscellanies
may form some idea of the perfection to which the engraver, the
printer, and the binder have carried their respective arts in the
preparation of this exquisite volume. Its contents are worthy the grace
and beauty in which they are enshrined. Still better, like a pure
heart in a fair body, they have qualities that will long outlast their
exterior elegance. Wit, humor, philosophy, and sentiment, all of a
tender, womanly kind, pervade the various tales, sketches, and essays
of which the book is composed, and cannot fail to render it what it
was intended to be--something to amuse the "cool, delicious hours that
relieve the summer exhaustion, and incline the mind to quiet reading."

THE BLOODSTONE. By Donald MacLeod, author of "Pynnhurst," "Life of
Sir Walter Scott," etc. Pleasant, fascinating, and tenderly natural
are the pictures of boy-hood and home-life in the earlier portions of
this simple little story. What follows, "over the sea," abounds with
thrilling scenes and touching, healthy sentiment. Purely English in
its style, and eminently moral in its tone, this "new venture" of Mr.
MacLeod will add fresh lustre to his already brilliant reputation.

       *       *       *       *       *

From EVANS & BRITTAN, New York:--

BOOK OF SONGS FOR CHILDREN. Illustrated to the heart's content of any
child. A very beautiful collection of songs and very pretty engravings.
Evans & Brittan deserve the thanks of everybody having children for the
admirable works for the young they have published. They have two of the
best writers of children's stories in this or any other country--Cousin
Alice and Mrs. Manners. May they prosper! We can furnish the above for
75 cents in cloth, and in cloth, gilt extra, for $1. "The Schoolfellow
for Boys and Girls," a magazine we have often praised, price $1 a year,
is also published by the same firm.

       *       *       *       *       *

From EVANS & BRITTAN, New York, through J. W. MOORE, Philadelphia:--

PRETTY POLL: A PARROT'S OWN HISTORY. Edited by the author of "The
Amyott's Home," "Older and Wiser," etc. With illustrations by Harrison
Weir. Quite an interesting little story, intended to be read by
children, whom it cannot fail to please as well as instruct.

by Birket Foster. A very neat volume, prettily illustrated. Most of the
songs in it are from the German. The airs to which many of them are
adapted come evidently from the same source.

       *       *       *       *       *

From G. P. PUTNAM & CO., 10 Park Place, New York:--

LYRICS FROM THE "WIDE, WIDE WORLD." The words by W. H. Bellamy. The
music by C. W. Glover. None of the numerous readers of the "Wide, Wide
World" should be without this beautiful volume.

A DAY IN THE CRYSTAL PALACE. This work may be termed a memento of the
Crystal Palace. It is a beautiful book, containing the finest of the
specimens of statuary, and other articles of special interest in the
Palace. The engravings are amongst the finest specimens we have ever
seen, and the whole work reflects great credit on its able author, W.
C. Richards, A. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

From GARRETT & CO., New York, through T. B. PETERSON, Philadelphia:--

SCENES IN THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR. This work is compiled from the
journals, letters, and memoranda of the late Yankee Hill. The
illustrations are original. Poor Hill! we knew him well. "He was
the noblest _Yankee_ of them all." The journal is very amusing, and
gives the eventful and amusing scenes in the life of an actor with
great truth. There are many side-splitting scenes in the "Life,"
reminiscences of the great "stars" of the day, and amusing scenes with
some of the lesser lights. In fact, it is one of the most amusing books
we have ever read.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

HUFELAND'S ART OF PROLONGING LIFE. Edited by Erasmus Wilson, F. R. S.
Our everyday observation is conclusive of the fact that the art of
shortening existence is one with which but few are unacquainted; yet
the majority of men have the desire, if they do not act upon it, to
add to the number of the days of their earthly pilgrimage. For such
the philosophic Hufeland, at one time professor of medicine in the
University of Jena, has prepared the little volume under notice. Stored
with valuable facts and hints, and sound advice, which, if attended
to, must inevitably contribute towards health and longevity, the work
will, we hope, soon become as popular here as it has long since been in

       *       *       *       *       *

From JAMES MUNROE & CO., Boston and Cambridge:--

LUCY HERBERT; _or, the Little Girl who would have an Education_. By
Estelle. With eight engravings. This is a very pretty and simply told
story of successful effort and self-discipline. The heroine, left an
orphan and dependent on her own exertions at a very early age, resolves
to carry out her mother's strong desire that her little Lucy should be
an educated woman, fitted as well to occupy an elevated station as the
more humble one which seemed her lot. Her perseverance in pursuing this
object, and the happy termination of her labors, are related in an easy
and agreeable style.

FRIENDS IN COUNCIL: _a Series of Readings and Discourses thereon_. In
two volumes. The first volume of this work has long been a familiar and
favorite book with us. To read it is like holding familiar converse
with a man of a large, generous, and kindly heart, and with an
intellect at once deep, comprehensive, and penetrating into the very
pith and marrow of the subject discussed. Vexed political questions,
and those connected with our social life and happiness, are viewed
with thoughtful consideration and an evident desire to look on both
sides with impartiality; and, mingled with this, there is a genial
undercurrent of humor and fancy, which makes the book an attractive one
even to those who generally avoid the abstruser subjects. The clear and
simple, yet elegant style in which the work is written shows that the
author is a man of high cultivation as well as of earnest thought.


From T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia: "First Love. A
Story of Woman's Heart." By Eugene Sue. This is said to be the author's
best book. Powerful, pathetic, and witty, by turns, and of exciting
interest, it undoubtedly is; but we can discover no other merit in
a hasty examination of its pages. Far more to be read and admired,
if not so intricate in plot or so lively in narration, are the two
companion volumes, from the same publishers, respectively entitled,
"The Iron Rule; or, Tyranny in the Household," and "The Lady at Home;
or, Happiness in the Household." When we state that those interesting,
naturally written, lifelike fictions are from the pen of T. S. Arthur,
no one need be told of their excellence. Happy will it be if the
lessons, so pleasingly and so touchingly inculcated by them, take root
in the hearts of many and bear their proper fruit--charity, peace,
humanity, and love.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Lindsay & Blakiston,
Philadelphia: "Charles Auchester. A Memorial." By E. Berger. This
purports to be the autobiography of a musical artist, portraying, in a
somewhat sentimental, though not unattractive style, the early impulses
and maturer struggles of one bountifully endowed with the tender and
childlike feelings which the world is pleased to allot to the softer
types of genius.

From A. Hart (late Carey & Hart), Philadelphia: "Old England and New
England, in a Series of Views taken on the Spot." By Alfred Bunn,
author of "The Stage Before and Behind the Curtain." Two volumes of the
London edition complete in one. We have received, with the publisher's
respects, a cheap American reprint of this volume of travels through
the United States. As containing anecdotes and sketches of sixty or
seventy of our notabilities, it will create some stir and attract many
readers. With the usual amount of cant in regard to the "spitting"
propensities of our population, we find much amusing matter, and no
little philosophic consideration for manners and customs undoubtedly
strange and singular to a thorough-bred Englishman. Mr. Bunn, while
peregrinating the States, must have encountered an unusual number of
our "fast men," who seem to have passed upon him for truth many of the
broadly-humorous, if not profane stories, the relation of which is one
of their peculiar amusements.

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through T. B. Peterson,
Philadelphia: "Hearts and Faces; or, Home-Life Unveiled." By Paul
Creyton, author of "Father Brighthopes," etc. This is a charming little
collection of domestic tales and sketches, making no pretensions to
literary merit, but really possessing it in a high degree.

From J. S. Redfield, Clinton Hall, New York, through W. B. Zieber,
Philadelphia: "The Yemassee; a Romance of Carolina." By W. Gilmore
Simms, Esq., author of "The Partisan," "Guy Rivers," "Martin Faber,"
"Richard Hurdis," "Border Beagles," etc. This is a new and revised
edition of a standard romance, of whose acknowledged merits it is not
necessary for us to speak.

From H. Long & Brothers, 43 Ann Street, New York: "The Old Doctor;
or, Stray Leaves from my Journal: being Sketches of the most
interesting Reminiscences of a Retired Physician." A volume of
well-told, thrilling, and instructive tales, the character of which is
sufficiently shown by the title of the collection.

From D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway, New York, through C. G. Henderson
& Co., Philadelphia: "The Flush Times of Alabama and Mississippi." A
Series of Sketches. By Joseph G. Baldwin. Many of these sketches, which
are mostly humorous, have already been admired and laughed at, as they
appeared from time to time in the "Southern Literary Messenger."

From Lamport, Blakeman, & Low, 8 Park Place, New York, through H. C.
Baird, Philadelphia: "The Ladies' Glee-Book: a Collection of Choice
and Beautiful Glees, for three Female Voices; in English, French, and
Italian. Designed for the Use of Classes, School Exhibitions, and
to add to the Pleasures of the Home Circle." Translated, adapted,
arranged, and composed, with an accompaniment for the piano-forte, by
Henry C. Watson. Recommended by Wallace, Strakosch, and Maretzek.

From Garrett & Co., 18 Ann Street, New York, through T. B. Peterson,
102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia: "Romantic Incidents in the Lives
of the Queens of England." By J. P. Smith, Esq., author of "Stanfield
Hall," "Amy Lawrence," etc. This is a deeply interesting volume of
semi-historical sketches.

From Moore, Anderson, Wilstach, & Keys, Cincinnati, through Lippincott,
Grambo, & Co., Philadelphia: "Mrs. Ben Darby; or, the Weal and Woe of
Social Life." By A. Maria Collins. This is a graphic story of real
life, from the pen of a western authoress, who, if we may judge by her
present volume, is a lady of superior abilities.

From Hermann J. Meyer, 164 William Street, New York: Parts 8 and 9,
Vol. 2, of "Meyer's Universum." Parts 6 and 7 (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
truly valuable and beautiful national publication eminently deserves a
hearty national support.

Godey's Arm-Chair.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! and are happy to hear that you agree
with us. We told you that our January number would far exceed in beauty
and worth any other magazine, and your unanimous approval is grateful.
Well, what think you of the February? The Evening Walk is a fine line
engraving. But a word with you upon that subject. It is a portrait of
a lady of our city whose least charm is her beauty. The graces of her
mind and the kindness of her heart far exceed the beauty of her face.
To know her is to love her.

       *       *       *       *       *

WE commence in this number "The Trials of a Needle-woman," by T. S.
Arthur, one of Mr. Arthur's best stories. It will take some five or six
numbers to complete it.

       *       *       *       *       *

WE publish in this number a Valentine story, and the supposed origin
of St. Valentine's day. These two articles are for our subscribers.
In return, we should be pleased to receive a Valentine from them,
inclosing $3, $6, $10, or $20. It can be addressed as follows:--

[Illustration: _Registered._

    _L. A. Godey,
    113 Chestnut St.,

We shall promptly answer the receipt of every such Valentine.

       *       *       *       *       *

WE CANNOT HELP IT.--If our friends will send us such letters, we must
publish them. Mrs. J. D. M., of New Jersey, writes: "Allow me to thank
you for the pleasure your 'Lady's Book' has afforded me for the last
TWELVE YEARS. As for the first sweet flowers of spring, so do we each
month watch for and welcome thy agreeable messenger."

Mrs. M. F. W., of Mauch Chunk, writes: "Permit an old subscriber and
admirer to congratulate you upon the great success and unusual esteem
with which your efforts have been met. I am sure you deserve and get
the thanks of all the ladies for your untiring zeal in their behalf,
and the gentlemen also owe you many thanks for the patterns to which
they are indebted for many a pretty keepsake."

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW SAD!--An editor writes us, and even in writing his sad condition
is shown; not that the writing is bad, that is very good; but the
words convey his desolation. "As yet I am a single man." What a world
of expression there is in that "yet!" "Your 'Book' accompanies me
occasionally on a visit to my female friends." Take it along with you,
and, if that does not get you a wife, you may as well give it up.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE "Danbury Times" says: "While speaking of the 'Lady's Book' to a
friend the other day, she remarked that she had taken it from the first
number issued in July, 1830, and that there was nothing like it." We
know two others who have taken it from January, 1831, within six months
from the commencement. It is needless to add that such subscribers
always pay regularly.

Since writing the above, we have received a letter from a lady in
Virginia, inclosing her twenty-second year's subscription.

       *       *       *       *       *

WE clip the following from the "Philadelphia Inquirer," of this city:--

"AMERICAN STORIES.--American stories are becoming quite popular with
the conductors of some of the foreign periodicals. We observe that two,
viz., 'My Brother Tom,' and 'Marrying through Prudential Motives,'
which appeared in 'Godey's Lady's Book' some time since, were soon
after republished in England, without credit, and have more recently
been republished in some of the New York papers as of foreign origin.
Quite a compliment this to Godey and his contributors."

       *       *       *       *       *

"My Grandmother's Bracelet," by Mrs. Hentz, a story that we published
in 1844, is now revived, and is going the rounds of the press as a new
story. No credit is given the "Lady's Book"--_of course_ NOT.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHRIST HEALING THE SICK.--We have a few copies of this splendid plate,
printed on paper of a good size for framing, still for sale at 50 cents

       *       *       *       *       *

WE now print precisely 9800 copies more than we did this time last
year, and we are anxious to make it up even 10,000. If all our
subscribers would follow the suggestion made by the "Huntingdon
Democrat," and many, we are proud to say, have already done what that
paper suggests, we would soon have that other 200: "We are compelled
to consider Mr. Godey the most successful intellectual caterer for the
ladies in all magazine-dom, and all who agree with us (and all who take
the 'Book' must), should each one get another subscriber to it, as a
compliment to its enterprising publisher for his untiring efforts to

       *       *       *       *       *

COVERS BY MAIL.--We cannot send covers for binding by mail, as the
Postmaster-General has decided that they must pay letter postage.
Rather queer! when you can send the whole Book, cover and all, and only
pay book or pamphlet postage. We can supply agents, and will send any
ordered in their packages.

       *       *       *       *       *

A LADY writes us to know how she can receive her "Lady's Book" without
being folded. She is the only subscriber in the place. Our answer is:
Get another subscriber, and the "Book" will then be done up without
being folded.

       *       *       *       *       *

A LADY, who sent us a club, writes as follows: "I extolled your
inestimable 'Book'--and why should I not?--showed them the benefit to
be derived from it, in order to induce them to subscribe, knowing, if
they could be persuaded to do so for one year, that they could not be
prevailed upon in future to be without so interesting and useful a
book, especially a lady."

       *       *       *       *       *

EDITORS TURNING LECTURERS.--Graham and Fitzgerald. The former delivered
a lecture before the Excelsior Temperance Circle of Honor, some days
since, which did honor to his head and heart. The Circle have had
the lecture printed, and we have read it with great satisfaction.
Fitzgerald's lecture was upon music, and well he handled the subject.
The audience were much pleased, and so much so that Mr. Fitzgerald
has been solicited to repeat the lecture. He would be a card for the
lyceums in want of a good lecturer.

       *       *       *       *       *

LA PIERRE HOUSE.--We advise all our subscribers who visit this city
to stop at the La Pierre House. It is situated on the widest street
and highest part of the city. Messrs. Taber & Son are indefatigable in
their efforts to please. Their table is admirable, and their "grand
hops" are the most neatly managed affairs we have ever seen.

       *       *       *       *       *

R. H. SEE & CO.'S New Book-Store, No. 106 Chestnut Street, is one of
the neatest establishments in the city, with the most gentlemanly
attendants. All the new publications will be found there; and great
inducements are held out to subscribe for "Godey's Lady's Book" and
"Graham's Magazine," in the shape of splendid premium plates of a large
size, and most beautifully engraved. This is a great opportunity. Mr.
See has also become one of the publishers of that old and favorite
monthly, "Graham's Magazine."

       *       *       *       *       *

We hope this extravagance will not extend to this country:--

"EUROPEAN FASHIONS.--Letters from Paris state that the extravagance
in dress for the last winter will be outdone by the magnificence of
the toilettes in preparation for the approaching season. Enormously
expensive toilettes are not confined to the older members of society;
the juvenile part of the _beau-monde_ is loaded with velvets,
embroideries, flounces, and feathers. As an instance of the vanity and
extravagance of private families in Paris, we may cite an instance in
which a baptismal dress of an infant has been prepared, of exquisite
embroidery and lace, at an expense of eighteen thousand dollars. The
establishment where these tiny articles were produced has been thronged
with lady visitors, to see the rich and costly dress in which the
little creature is to renounce the pomps and vanities of the world."

       *       *       *       *       *

JULLIEN the celebrated, and his band, have been here, and we confess
that we have never heard anything approaching them. Concert Hall was
crowded every evening they played--and the repetition of the "Prima
Donna Waltz," the "Katydid Polka," and the "American Quadrille," seemed
more and more to please the delighted audience. Jullien himself is an
admirable leader. He is devoid of affectation, although we were led to
suppose he had a great deal of it. His leading is most judicious, using
his baton no more than what seemed absolutely necessary, not thumping
constantly, as we have seen other leaders do, seemingly with no other
purpose than to call attention to themselves. He is ably represented in
his out-door business by Dr. Joy and W. F. Brough, Esq.

       *       *       *       *       *

DEMPSTER, the delightful ballad-singer, has been with us once again. He
always pleases. And, wherever he may go, we wish him great success, and
commend him to the kind consideration of our friends of the press. They
will find him a thorough, good-hearted gentleman.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRANKENSTEIN'S PANORAMA OF NIAGARA.--This great exhibition of the
most stupendous waterfall in the world, which has excited wonder and
admiration for so many months in New York, is now at Concert hall, in
this city. The brothers Frankenstein say, with a perfect enthusiasm,
that the sight of it will remain like a vision of glory forever upon
your memories--for,

    "A thing of beauty is a joy forever."

This may by some be thought a high tone, but in these days of
panoramas, it is necessary to speak emphatically, and they fear not the
result, if you but see this work.

       *       *       *       *       *

WE extract from the Philadelphia "Evening Argus" a notice of a very
powerfully written book:--

"'THE OLD DOCTOR' is the _nom de plume_ of the author of a book bearing
the same title, and filled with fragmentary sketches of various
incidents that have actually occurred in the practice of the unknown
physician who records them. The style is easy and pleasant, and the
sketches--some twenty in number--possess a thrilling interest that will
amply repay perusal. There are four superb illustrations, and the book
will prove a valuable addition to the library or the centre-table.
Since the publication of Dr. Warren's 'Diary of a Physician,' nothing
of the kind has appeared that will vie, in point of interesting
narrative, with these reminiscences of a retired physician. Physicians
have opportunities for observation and for learning secret histories
that never can be allowed to any one else, and the expositions of this
book show how much stranger truth is than fiction. H. Long & Brother,
43 Ann St., are the publishers; and this volume is well entitled to
take a front rank in the serial of family books which this house is
engaged in publishing."

       *       *       *       *       *

"WE see that several of our bachelor brothers of the 'press gang' have
taken up with Godey's offer to choose a wife for each of them from
among the 'Filadelfy Gals.' We hope they are not all spoken for, and
will put in our order. Friend Godey, you will please look us up one
with rosy cheeks, not over five feet high, nor more than nineteen years
old; and of good 'mettle.' One who can set type, and act as _sub._ in
our office, when we are out, preferred. Have her ready by the first of
the coming year, and we will call for her in person."

Friend "Argus," we would like you to call at once, for we have here now
some of the finest specimens of ladies ever presented to an admiring
public. But we do not claim them as Philadelphians. There are three
ladies _on exhibition_ here, the largest of which weighs 769 pounds,
and the least, some 600. The youngest is about nineteen. Just the age
you want, and if she can't set type now, she could soon learn. She is
ready now for you.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE "Iowa Sentinel" says: "We have but one objection to Godey, and that
is the devoting entire of his magazine to the ladies. However, it is
just what it purports to be--a Lady's Book."

Now, we do not consider this an objection, but a compliment. We
endeavor to please the ladies, and how gloriously have they responded
to the appeal we made to them some few months since, and how from our
heart we thank them! Still, friend Sentinel, look over each number of
the "Book" and see if you cannot find enough to interest a gentleman.
Read the article upon Artesian Wells.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOHN ROSS DIX, ESQ., has become one of the editors of the "Waverley
Magazine," published in Boston. This gentleman and W. R. Lawrence,
Esq., its old editor, between them are able to make the "Waverley
Magazine" even better than it has been, if that were necessary.

       *       *       *       *       *

contemporary, in speaking of this work, says:

"Its splendid exterior, gay in gold and morocco, the finely executed
portrait, by which the reader may see that the poet is no hard-featured
wight, but has the impress of a noble soul upon his features, and the
beautiful steel engravings, will attract the admirers of sumptuous
books; but they will find their taste purified and elevated, and their
hearts made better by the poems, which will cling to the memory as they
are read like strains of bewitching music. Space does not permit us to
point out our special favorites; but they may be found almost _passim_.
We counsel all who have libraries or drawing-rooms to procure the
volume as an ornament to be proud of; while those who have not, will
find it a meet companion either in travel or seclusion."

It is a most beautiful work, and is a suitable volume either for a New
Year or birthday present, and would be a beautiful Valentine to send to
a lady.

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM the "New York Spirit of the Times" we extract the following. It is
an excellent book, that we can vouch for.

"The New Household Receipt Book; containing Maxims, Directions, and
Specifics for Promoting Health, Comfort, and Improvement in the Homes
of the People. Compiled from the best Authorities, with many Receipts
never before collected." By Sarah Josepha Hale. This is a very useful
book, and every housekeeper should have a copy. Young women just
married, or about to be married, would do well to look into it, as much
time may be saved and trouble avoided by attending to its instructions.
Mrs. Hale must be exceedingly industrious, and if those masculine
feminines who go prating about "Women's Rights" would employ themselves
as usefully and virtuously, they would, like her, have the thanks of
the women of the world, and be respected by the men of the world.
Published by Long & Brother, 43 Ann St.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE "Florist and Horticultural Journal" continues to come to us
elegantly illustrated, and containing useful and well-written articles
on all that relates to fruits, flowers, and vegetables. Each number
contains a beautifully colored plate of some new or rare plant. Some of
the engravings are executed in Europe. It is published by H. C. Hanson,
at $2 per annum.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL." Geo. R. Graham, editor; R. H. See,
publisher.--Graham in a new character--editor of a weekly newspaper.
Won't he make the old fogies of the press mind their P's and Q's!
Already has the "Mail" assumed its place among those of a "large
circulation." It is a splendid quarto, beautifully illustrated, and
most ably edited.

       *       *       *       *       *

WE ask attention to our new work, "How to Make a Dress." It is by our
Fashion Editor, and we think it will be useful to every one of our lady
subscribers. Orders for materials of all kinds, jewelry, patterns, etc.
etc., will be attended to, by inclosing a remittance to L. A. Godey,

       *       *       *       *       *

T. S. ARTHUR'S HOME MAGAZINE.--This invaluable monthly comes to us,
as usual, richly freighted with literary gems and treasures. In our
estimation, it stands in the first rank of our periodical literature.
It is conducted with ability and taste, and presents a well-selected
variety of choice reading, in which are mingled the grave and the
gay, the solid and the less weighty, with a felicity seldom obtained
in works of this character. It requires a rare discrimination and a
still more rare combination of the moral and literary element to make
a magazine what it _ought to be_--what the high interests of society
and the family demand it should be--what a Christian parent would feel
a pleasure in putting into the hands of his children. But such, we
are happy to say, in our opinion, is the "Home Magazine." The Little
Colporteur story of Arthur in this number, is worth, for its touching
Christian simplicity and its power to awaken and enliven the better
feelings of the heart, the price of the work for a year many times
told. May he write many such Christian parables! It is safe copying the
GREAT MASTER here. We warmly commend the "Home Magazine" to all our
friends as a cheap, but valuable magazine, and one every way worthy of
their confidence and patronage.--_Central New Yorker._

       *       *       *       *       *

ARTHUR'S HOME GAZETTE.--We give to this journal our meed of praise, it
being one of the best, if not the very best weekly paper published.
It is a paper which no one, possessing even a spark of goodness, can
attentively read without being benefited by it. The public should in
all cases show a preference for such papers. Parents, especially,
in addition to the best daily paper they can procure, should supply
their families with two or three of the best weeklies; and we would
most cordially recommend "Arthur's Home Gazette" as one of the number.
Money thus spent would be very profitably invested.--_Christian Banner,
Fredericksburg, Va._

       *       *       *       *       *

NO. 3 of our "Splendid Gallery of Engravings" is now ready. See
advertisement on cover.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE "Boston Post" says that "a young man, a member of an Evangelical
church," advertises in a New York paper for board "in a pious family,
where his Christian example would be considered a compensation."

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

MOORE, the poet, always had an eye to, we were going to say, dollars
and cents; but pounds, shilling, and pence would be more appropriate:--

"I have been passing three days with the Duchess of Kent and our little
future Queen at Earl Stoke Park, and we had a great deal of music.
The duchess sang some of my melodies with me better than I ever heard
them performed. I promised to send her some of the songs of mine she
most liked, and I should be glad if you would get them bound together
(not _too_ expensively) for me to present to her. They are as follows:
Meeting of Ships--Indian Boat--The Evening Gun--Say, what shall be our
Sport, (can you detach this from the Nationals?)--Keep your tears for
me--The Watchman--I love but thee (beginning 'If after all')--Reason
and Folly and Beauty. She has promised me copies of some very pretty
German things she sang."


Draw a design upon cardboard, similar to the annexed engraving. Then
cut it out neatly with a pair of scissors, and gum a piece of black
cloth or velvet over the part intended as the cap; attach two pieces of
China ribbon to the side of the cap, and gild or paint the epaulettes.
Sew a small band of tape or webbing to the back part of the kilt, large
enough to allow the two forefingers to pass through it; and when this
is done, gum a portion of tartan over the lower part of the design, so
as to represent the kilt, and otherwise ornament the figure so that it
may represent a Highland piper.


If the whole figure is only intended to be painted, the band at the
back of the kilt must be glued on instead of sewing it. Thus far the
figure is complete, and you must now make the boots, which may be
easily done from a piece of plaid ribbon or stuff, and some black
cloth, leather, or velvet. Take care that they are large enough to
admit the tips of your fingers at the tops, which should be ornamented
with some strips of China ribbon of various colors. The figure is now

To make the piper dance, introduce the two forefingers of the right
hand through the bands, at the back of the kilt, so that the knuckles
only are seen; then place the boots upon the tips of the fingers, and
as the back of the hand and other fingers are concealed, the Scotchman
may be made to dance by moving the fingers in such a manner that the
knuckles are bent during the performance.

This forms a very amusing trifle for children.

       *       *       *       *       *

We will furnish any of the following from the establishment of Mrs.
Suplee, the originator of this style of patterns. But few persons can
imagine how complete they are in every respect, fit, trimming, &c. At a
little distance, they look like the real garment. The stock and variety
of patterns for ladies' dresses, cloaks, mantillas, sacks, sleeves,
and every article of ladies' and children's wear, are unequalled in
the United States. Every new design from Paris and London is regularly
received, so that persons wishing something new can always be supplied.
The patterns are cut in tissue paper, and trimmed as the article is

Cloaks, Mantillas, Dress Bodies, Sleeves, Basques, Full Dress,
Children's Dresses, Basques, Sacks, and Aprons, Boys' Jackets and Pants.

In ordering patterns, please say if for ladies or children.

    Address        FASHION EDITOR,

    _Care of "Godey's Lady's Book," Phila._


"Mary Vale."--It may be interesting to this lady to know that her
story of "Marrying through Prudential Motives" has been copied from
the "Lady's Book" for March, 1853, in two of the English magazines,
recopied into the New York "Albion," that professes to give nothing but
the cream of the English magazines, credited to an English magazine;
and now, being an _English_ story, will no doubt be published by half
the papers in the United States. So much for the British stamp.

"Nannie" is informed that MSS. for publishing must only be written
on one side of the paper, as plainly as possible, done up neatly in
an envelope, sealed, and postage paid. MSS. always come to hand. We
have never lost one through the mails. To her other question, we have
repeatedly asked of our book publishers to name their price, but they
will not study their own interests enough to do it. We could sell
thrice as many books for them if they would attend to it. In London,
the price of the work is invariably mentioned in the advertisement.

"A. L. H."--Sent your box by Adams's Express. Wrote by mail and
inclosed receipt.

"G. L. M."--Sent cloak pattern by mail on the 16th.

"H. S."--We furnish any of Mrs. Suplee's patterns.

"M. A. D."--Sent cloak pattern by mail on 25th.

"N. B. D."--Jefferson's, or Mathias's, or Sutherland's Manual.

"J. S."--Sent pattern by mail on 12th.

"Mrs. S. J. F."--Sent your patterns by mail on 30th.

"Mrs. S. M. B."--Sent your articles by mail on 3d.

"W. G."--Sent your Rapp pencil on the 6th.

"M. N."--Sent patterns by mail on 7th.

"E. C. H."--Answered yours about the polish on 5th.

"F. M. B."--Sent the silk on the 6th.

"J. H.," New York.--Will please mention what particular one she wants
explained. The different artists that compose the work use different
terms, and what will explain one will not another.

"C. V. S."--Sent your order by Kinsley's Express on the 7th.

"Mrs. C. E. S."--Sent your patterns on the 9th.

"H. S."--Sent your patterns on the 7th.

"H. B. S."--Sent ear-rings on the 9th.

"F. L. K."--Will please accept our thanks for the pattern for "muslin
flouncing." It is very pretty, and shall be engraved. We will be
pleased to receive any original designs from our subscribers for any
kind of fancy work.

"Miss L. J. T."--Sent your handkerchief by mail on 9th.

"Mrs. R. F. L."--Sent your pattern by mail on 10th.

"L. J."--Sent the Talma by Adams & Co.'s Express, and sent you their

"Mrs. A. E. S."--Sent pattern on the 13th.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies it.

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

The Borrower's Department.

"_The wicked borroweth and payeth not again._"

The "Wadesboro' Argus" says: "We have been lending the 'Book' for the
last year or two; but Godey positively forbids it, and we will have to
refuse it to borrowers. We are now making up a club for the work for
next year, and ask those whom we have been supplying the present year
to send us their names with two dollars, and we will see that they have
the 'Book' supplied in their own names for the next twelve months."

Will one of these borrowers subscribe? Doubtful. But we shall see.

       *       *       *       *       *

LETTER FROM A LADY.--"I am trying to raise a large club here. Our
only trouble is from borrowers. During my absence in the country this
past summer, the whole of last year's numbers were taken out of the
house, and two or three of them were never returned. I have come to the
determination, as New Year is a time to make good resolutions, one of
mine shall be not to lend 'Godey.'


       *       *       *       *       *

"YOUR 'Book' is very popular; but many of your subscribers wish that
it was more popular, at least enough so to cause those who borrow to
subscribe for themselves. Our copy generally goes round to a dozen
families, the rightful owner receiving little or no benefit from it;
for, by the time it is returned, it is so defaced that we can scarcely
recognize it.

    J. D. M."

Chemistry for Youth.


LOCO-FOCO MATCHES, ETC.--The oxygenated or _chlorate matches_ are first
dipped in melted sulphur, and then tipped with a paste made of chlorate
of potass, sulphur, and sugar, mixed with gum-water, and colored with
vermilion; frankincense and camphor are sometimes mixed with the
composition, and the wood of the match is pencil cedar, so that a
fragrant odor is diffused from the matches in burning. To obtain light,
a match is very lightly dipped in a bottle containing a little asbestos
soaked in oil of vitriol.

_Lucifers_ consist of chips of wood tipped with a paste of chlorate of
potass mixed with sulphuret of antimony, starch, and gum-water; when a
match is pinched between the folds of glass-paper and suddenly drawn
out, a light is instantly obtained.

_Prometheans_ consist of small rows of waxed paper, in one end of
which is a minute quantity of vitriol, in a glass bulb, sealed up and
surrounded with chlorate of potass; when the end thus prepared is
pressed so as to break the bulb, the vitriol comes in contact with the
composition, and produces light instantly.

_Loco-foco Matches_ are made of a compound of phosphorus, rice-flour,
&c., colored with any suitable article.

       *       *       *       *       *

PHOSPHORIC FIRE-BOTTLE.--Take a common brimstone match, introduce its
point into a bottle containing oxide of phosphorus so as to cause a
minute quantity of it to adhere to it; if the match be then rubbed on
a common bottle cork, it instantly takes fire; care should be taken
not to use the same match immediately, or while still hot, as it would
inevitably set fire to the oxide of phosphorus in the bottle. The
phosphoric fire-bottle may be prepared in the following manner: Take
a small phial of very thin glass, heat it gradually in a ladleful of
sand, and introduce into it a few grains of phosphorus; let the phial
be then left undisturbed for a few minutes, and proceed in this manner
until the phial is full; or, put a little phosphorus into a small
phial; heat the phial in a ladleful of sand, and when the phosphorus is
melted, turn it round, so that the phosphorus may adhere to the sides
of the phial; and then cork the phial closely.

       *       *       *       *       *

A COMBUSTIBLE BODY SET ON FIRE BY WATER.--Fill a saucer nearly full
of water, and drop into it a small piece of potassium the size of a
pepper-corn (about two grains); the potassium will instantly become
red-hot and dart from one side of the saucer to the other, and burn
vividly on the surface of the water.

       *       *       *       *       *

CURIOUS EXPERIMENT.--Procure three basins, and put water of the
temperature of thirty-three degrees into one basin, of fifty degrees
into another, and of a hundred degrees into the third; then plunge one
hand into the water of thirty-three degrees, and the other into that
of a hundred degrees, and when they have both remained a few seconds,
withdraw them, and plunge both hands into the water of fifty degrees:
the one which was before in warm water will now feel cold, and the one
that was in the cold water will feel warm.

       *       *       *       *       *

VIVID PRODUCTION OF FIRE.--Take three parts by weight of flowers
of sulphur, and eight parts of copper filings, mix them intimately
together, and put the mixture into a large test-tube, or small glass
matrass. If the tube be now placed upon red-hot coals, the mass begins
to swell, and a small ignited spark becomes first visible at the
bottom, which rapidly increases in size, and lastly, the whole mass
glows and exhibits a brilliant combustion without the access of air or
oxygen gas.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE FIERY FLASH.--Pour iron filings upon the flame of a candle, from
a sheet of paper, about eight or ten inches above it; as they descend
into the flame, they will enter into a very vivid scintillating

       *       *       *       *       *

SPIRITS OF WINE.--Put a small quantity of spirits of wine into a glass,
and put a halfpenny or shilling in with it; then direct the rays of the
sun, by means of a burning glass, upon the coin, and in a short time it
will become so hot as to inflame the spirits.



    =1.= Inside.       =2.= Air.       =3.= Mal-ice.



    A museum am I, and my pictures so true
    That their merits are never disputed by you
    Such graphic expression each sketch must reveal
    Of all I present to engage the ideal:
    My collection abounds in so varied a stock
    (Some sure to enchant, while some others may shock)
    Of portraits and landscapes, and scenes of the past--
    Historic and classic; some others are cast
    In chimerical moulds, and stand out to the sight
    In colors of fancy illusively bright.
    Some are visions of dreams that appeal to the sense
    With a mystical fervor, so fair their pretence.
    Now this Exhibition at will you may view,
    For you'll aye find it open and gratis to _you_:
    Though you'll enter it solus, your gaze none can share,
    So it's not like the show in Trafalgar-square.


    My first "to know" might signify;
    My second "melody" imply;
    My third must "fashionable" mean;
    And in my whole much fashion's seen.


    More truly valuable am I,
      As visibly is shown,
    Than California's gold could buy--
      Which you at sight must own.

    Of one alone, or else of three,
      You'll fabricate my name;
    Then, even backwards spelling me,
      You'll find me still the same.


    As introductory, I'll state,
    We are a family of eight,
    Fluent of speech as e'en are you,
    And quite as comprehensive, too.
    Our character is somewhat strange--
    One-half of us are apt to change
    In constitution frequently,
    As you continually may see:
    Although the other four, 'tis plain,
    Unalter'd always must remain;
    And in their own primeval state,
    Your constant exigence await.
    Collectively, our family
    With reasoning humanity
    Must o'er retain the first degree.


    My first is what you all must share
    So long as you respire the air;
    And when deceased, survivors will
    Your proper share attribute still.
    My second's what I think you'd do
    Whene'er my first might do so too.
    Then let the two united be,
    To form what you'd not wish to see.

Receipts, &c.


IMPROVED MODE OF ADMINISTERING SENNA.--Take of senna three drachms;
lesser cardamom-seeds, husked and bruised, half a drachm; boiling
water, as much as will yield a filtered infusion of six ounces. Digest
for an hour, and filter when cold. This is a well-contrived purgative
infusion, the aromatic correcting the drastic efforts of the senna. It
is of advantage that it should be used freshly prepared, as it is apt
to spoil very quickly.

WARM WATER.--Warm water is preferable to cold water, as a drink to
persons who are subject to dyspeptic and bilious complaints, and it
may be taken more freely than cold water, and consequently answers
better as a diluent for carrying off bile, and removing obstructions
in the urinary secretion in cases of stone and gravel. When water of
a temperature equal to that of the human body is used for drink, it
proves considerably stimulant, and is particularly suited to dyspeptic,
bilious, gouty, and chlorotic subjects.

BARLEY-WATER.--To make good barley-water, choose the best pearl-barley,
boil it for a few minutes, then throw away the water and add fresh, in
the proportion of a pint to an ounce of barley. Boil quickly, and then
let it simmer for an hour; strain and sweeten; flavor with lemon, or
according to taste. It is a very mucilaginous drink, and beneficial to

ADVANTAGES OF CLEANLINESS.--Health and strength cannot be long
continued unless the skin, _all_ the skin, is washed frequently with
a sponge or other means. Every morning is best, after which the skin
should be rubbed very well with a rough cloth. This is the most certain
way of preventing cold, and a little substitute for exercise, as it
brings blood to the surface, and causes it to circulate well through
the fine capillary vessels. Labor produces this circulation naturally.
The insensible perspiration cannot escape well if the skin is not
clean, as the pores get choked up. It is said that in health about half
the aliment we take passes out through the skin.

ANTIDOTE TO ARSENIC.--Magnesia is an antidote to arsenic, equally
efficacious with peroxide of iron, and preferable to it, inasmuch as it
is completely innocuous in almost any quantity, and can be procured in
any form.

REMEDY FOR TOOTHACHE.--Take of alum, in powder, two drachms; spirit of
nitre, seven drachms. Mix, and apply it to the teeth.

DEAFNESS.--Deafness is usually accompanied with confused sounds, and
noises of various kinds in the inside of the ear itself; in such cases,
insert a piece of cotton wool, on which a very little oil of cloves or
cinnamon has been dropped.

RHEUMATIC EMBROCATION.--Take of spirit of turpentine, spirit of
hartshorn, liquid opodeldoc, of each one ounce.



[_Second article._]

COMMON BAKED CUSTARD.--Mix a quart of new milk with eight well-beaten
eggs, strain the mixture through a fine sieve, and sweeten it with from
five to eight ounces of sugar, according to the taste; add a small
pinch of salt, and pour the custard into a deep dish, with or without
a lining or rim of paste; grate nutmeg or lemon rind over the top, and
bake it in a _very_ slow oven from twenty to thirty minutes, or longer,
should it not be firm in the centre. A custard, if well made, and
properly baked, will be quite smooth when cut, without the honey-combed
appearance which a hot oven gives; and there will be no whey in the
dish. New milk, one quart; eggs, eight; sugar, five to eight oz.; salt,
one-quarter salt-spoonful; nutmeg or lemon-grate; baked, slow oven,
twenty to thirty minutes, or more.

CHOCOLATE CUSTARDS.--Dissolve gently by the side of the fire an ounce
and a half of the best chocolate in rather more than a wineglassful of
water, and then boil it until it is perfectly smooth; mix with it a
pint of milk well flavored with lemon-peel or vanilla, and two ounces
of fine sugar, and when the whole boils, stir to it five well-beaten
eggs that have been strained. Put the custard into a jar or jug, set it
into a pan of boiling water, and stir it without ceasing until it is
thick. Do not put it into glasses or a dish till nearly or quite cold.
These, as well as all other custards, are infinitely finer when made
with the yolks only of the eggs.

RICE CUSTARDS WITHOUT CREAM.--Take one teaspoonful of rice flour, a
pint of new milk, the yolks of three eggs, sugar to your liking; mix
the rice very smooth, and stir it, with the eggs, into the boiling
milk. An excellent dish for children.

A FINER BAKED CUSTARD.--Boil together gently, for five minutes, a pint
and a half of new milk, a few grains of salt, the very thin rind of
a lemon, and six ounces of loaf sugar; stir these boiling, but very
gradually, to the well-beaten yolks of ten fresh eggs, and the whites
of four; strain the mixture, and add to it half a pint of good cream;
let it cool, and then flavor it with a few spoonfuls of brandy or a
little ratafia; finish and bake it by the directions given for the
common custard above; or pour it into small well-buttered cups, and
bake it very slowly from ten to twelve minutes.

APPLE OR GOOSEBERRY SOUFFLE.--Scald and sweeten the fruit, beat it
through a sieve, and put it into a tart dish. When cold, pour a rich
custard over it, about two inches deep; whip the whites of the eggs, of
which the custard was made, to a snow, and lay it in small rough pieces
on the custard; sift fine sugar over, and put it into a slack oven for
a short time. It will make an exceedingly pretty dish.

GOOSEBERRY-FOOL.--Put the fruit into a stone jar, with some good
Lisbon sugar; set the jar on a stove, or in a saucepan of water over
the fire; if the former, a large spoonful of water should be added
to the fruit. When it is done enough to pulp, press it through a
cullender; have ready a teacupful of new milk and the same quantity of
raw cream boiled together, and left to be cold; then sweeten pretty
well with fine sugar, and mix the pulp by degrees with it. _Or_:--Mix
equal proportion of gooseberry pulp and custard.

APPLE-FOOL may be made the same as gooseberry, except that when stewed
the apples should be peeled and pulped.

FRENCH FLUMMERY.--Boil one ounce and a half of isinglass in a pint and
a half of cream for ten minutes, stirring it well; sweeten it with
loaf-sugar, flavor with two tablespoonfuls of orange-flower water,
strain it into a deep dish.

FRUIT CREAMS.--Take half an ounce of isinglass, dissolved in a little
water, then put one pint of good cream, sweetened to the taste; boil
it; when nearly cold, lay some apricot or raspberry jam on the bottom
of a glass dish, and pour it over. This is most excellent.

BURNT CREAM.--Set over the fire in a pan three ounces of sifted sugar,
stir it, and when it browns, add a quart of cream, and two ounces of
isinglass; boil and stir till the latter is dissolved, when sweeten
it, and strain into moulds. Or, this cream may be made by boiling it
without sugar, adding the yolks of four eggs, sweetening and sifting
over it in a dish loaf-sugar, to be browned with a salamander.

LEMON CREAM.--Take a pint of cream, add the zest of a lemon rubbed on
sugar; whip it well; add sugar and lemon-juice to palate. Have half an
ounce of isinglass dissolved and cool; when the cream is thick, which
it will be when the lemon-juice is added, pour in the isinglass, and
immediately mould it. A smaller quantity of isinglass may suffice, but
that depends on the thickness of the cream. Other flavors may be used,
as orange, almond, maraschino. _Or_:--Take a pint of thick cream, and
put to it the yolks of two eggs well beaten, 4 oz. of fine sugar, and
the thin rind of a lemon; boil it up, then stir it till almost cold;
put the juice of a lemon in a dish or bowl, and pour the cream upon it,
stirring it till quite cold.

RASPBERRY CREAM.--Put six ounces of raspberry jam to a quart of cream,
pulp it through a lawn sieve, add to it the juice of a lemon and a
little sugar, and whisk it till thick. Serve it in a dish or glasses.

STRAWBERRY CREAM.--Put six ounces of strawberry jam with a pint of
cream through a sieve, add to it the juice of a lemon, whisk it fast at
the edge of a dish, lay the froth on a sieve, add a little more juice
of lemon, and when no more froth will rise, put the cream into a dish,
or into glasses, and place the froth upon it, well drained.

The Toilet.

CELEBRATED HONEY ALMOND PASTE.--Take honey, one pound; white bitter
paste, one pound; expressed oil of bitter almonds, two pounds; yolks of
eggs, five. Heat the honey, strain, then add the bitter paste, knead
well together, and, lastly, add the eggs and oil in alternate portions.

INVALUABLE OINTMENT.--Obtain a pint of real cream, let it simmer over
the fire, or on the side, till it resembles butter, and forms a thick
oily substance, which may be used as ointment for fresh or old wounds,
cracked lips or hands.

CHAPPED HANDS.--Mix a quarter of a pound of unsalted hog's-lard, which
should be washed first in water and then in rose-water, with the yolk
of a new-laid egg and a large spoonful of honey. Add to this as much
fine oatmeal or almond paste as will make the whole into a paste, and
apply this after washing the hands.

TO MAKE WASH-BALLS.--Take two pounds of new white soap, and shave thin
into a teacupful of rose-water, pouring in as much boiling water as
will soften it. Put into a pipkin a pint of sweet oil, fourpennyworth
of oil of almonds, half a pound of spermaceti, and set all over the
fire till dissolved; then add the soap, and half a pound of camphor
that has been first reduced to powder by rubbing it in a mortar with a
few drops of spirit of wine or lavender-water. Boil ten minutes; then
pour it into a basin, and stir till it is quite thick enough to roll up
into hard balls.

TO CLEAN WHITE VEILS.--Put the veil in a solution of white soap, and
let it simmer a quarter of an hour; squeeze it in some warm water and
soap till quite clean. Rinse it from soap, and then in clean cold
water, in which is a drop of liquid blue; then pour boiling water on
a teaspoonful of starch, run the veil through this, and clear it well
by clapping it. Afterwards pin it out, keeping the edges straight and

Centre-Table Gossip.


The following delicate translation from the German we commend to all
just betrothed lovers, or those who are enduring the anxieties and
suspense of a long engagement. It has the burden of more than one life
in which pride has made a wreck of happiness.



    They said to her. "He loves thee not, he speaks
      False vows, he plays but with thee." Then she grieved
    And bowed her head, and tears pearled from her cheeks,
      Like dew from roses. Oh, that she believed!
    For when he came, and saw her doubting mood,
      His heart grew wayward: not to show his sorrow,
    He sang, and played, and drank, and laughed aloud--
      Then wept in secret till the morrow.

    "He is not false, give him thy hand again!"
      Thus a good angel still her heart doth move.
    He, too, yet feels, 'mid bitterness and pain:
      "She loves you still! oh, she is still your love!
    Speak one kind word, let her speak one to you,
      And then the spell that parts you will be broken."
    They went--they met--but what will pride not do?
      That single word remained unspoken!

    They parted, and as in the minster's choir
      Doth die away the altar lamp's red glow--
    At first grows dimmer, then the sacred fire
      Burns bright once more, at length expires--'twas so;
    Lamented first, then longed for bitterly,
      And then--forgotten, love within them perished;
    Till an illusion vain it seemed to be
      That each the other e'er had cherished.

    'Twas only sometimes, in the moon's pale gleam,
      They'd from their pillow start: 'twas wet with tears,
    And wet with tears their face. They'd had a dream,
      I hardly know of what. And then the years
    Of bliss, long past, came to their memory;
      And how they'd vainly doubted, how they'd parted,
    And now were sundered so eternally--
    O God! forgive these stubborn-hearted!          M. A. R.


Mr. Brown says Mrs. Green--Miss White that was--doesn't live happily
with her husband. The poison works and comes to Mrs. Green's ears. But
stop, dear madam, before you have exhausted your week's supply of fresh
pocket-handkerchiefs by tears--didn't you refuse Mr. Brown's brother?
There's the antidote.

Mrs. Knight tells all her acquaintances that Mrs. Day is abominably
extravagant, and caused her husband's failure. Mrs. Starr is sorry to
hear it, but recollects in time that Mrs. Day once declined making Mrs.
Knight's acquaintance, because there were already more names on her
visiting list than she could do justice to. Mrs. Knight feels injured,
and sets it down to her living in a two story house in a cross street.
Hence her remarks.

And if our lady readers, young and old, would but notice it, a similar
antidote might be found for almost all the troublesome reports that
come to their ears. It is not in _human_ nature to give a kiss for
a blow; and fancied or real injuries are often visited upon one's
character or standing. The next best thing to being "let alone," is
not to mind what is said, so one is conscious of the right, and never
willingly to listen to what people say of you. If disagreeable, you
will be sorry you heard it; if the reverse, the best of us are sensibly
inclined to vanity.


THE season for transplanting roses "is from the end of October to the
middle of March. The autumn is generally preferred; although, I think,
it matters but little, provided they are not removed during frosty
weather. If standards are chosen, each plant should be tied to a stake
to preserve it from the action of the wind; and, whether standards
or dwarfs, it is an excellent plan to cover the soil with old hotbed
manure, describing a circle round the plant about eighteen inches in
diameter. This done, pruning is the next operation, and this should be
performed in February or March. As the roots of the plants will have
been curtailed by the act of removal, more pruning is necessary the
first year than at any subsequent period. It is scarcely possible to
acquire a correct knowledge of pruning otherwise than by watching a
proficient in the art. Nevertheless, a few hints may prove serviceable.
A young plant should have from three to seven shoots; if more are
present, those best situated for the formation of a well-balanced
plant should be singled out, and the others cut away. This is called
thinning. It is now necessary to shorten the shoots that are left.
It is an axiom in rose-pruning--the more rigorous the growth, the
less should the shoots be shortened. The kinds of weak growth may be
shortened to two, or at most three eyes (buds), the moderate growers
ranging from three to five eyes, and the strong growers from five to
seven. In the early growth of spring, it is necessary to look through
the plants occasionally, to remove the caterpillars which infest them
at that season, and which travel from bud to bud, eating out the core,
and destroying the future flowers. The autumnal blooming kinds require
higher cultivation than the summer ones. The latter flower in summer
only; the former give a succession of flowers during the autumn months.
By strict attention to these directions, a beautiful collection of
roses may be formed."


Collars and undersleeves being so expensive once more, many ladies
prefer to embroider for themselves, as the style is by no means
difficult. The pattern, principally of eyelets, and with deep points
of button-hole stitch (such as we have given, from time to time, in
the "Lady's Book" Work-Table), is traced on the muslin or cambric.
Instead of the old-fashioned hoops, or tambour-frames, a piece of dark
morocco or kid is basted beneath, to keep the strip quite straight and
even, then worked over the finger. The same is used for scalloping
or pointing skirts, or, in fact, for any style of cambric or muslin

Slippers are principally in _applique_. That is, a pattern of velvet,
be it a scroll, leaves, or flowers, is applied to black broadcloth by
braiding or chain-stitching. It takes much less time than canvas-work,
and, though it will not last so long, has a much richer effect. This
style of work is much used in smoking-caps, also in silk and velvet
for mantillas, short Talmas, etc. For canvas patterns, some of the
latest styles introduce the heads of animals, as the fox, or the whole
figure, a tiny kitten--on the toe, looking out from a wreath of leaves
or flowers, with a groundwork of some plain color. Scrolls, octagons,
diamonds, etc., shaded from black to the palest colors, are also much


A celebrated publisher in our own country has come to the conclusion
that there are but three classes of readers it is a bookseller's
pleasure or interest to cater for--young ladies, college students, and
_children_. Medical works, law books, or, indeed, those pertaining to
any of the professions, are to be considered as the tools of trade;
but we refer to those who read for pleasure simply, and enjoy what
they read without carping or cavil. Yet children are critics, often
admirable, though always genial, nevertheless very observant of good
morals and truthfulness to nature; and, this most favorite class of
readers constantly increasing, it has become a distinct branch of
business at the present time--the selection and publication of juvenile

Of the firms especially devoted to it, we have before noticed Evans &
Brittan, of New York, now the publishers of our old and well-beloved
friend, "The Schoolfellow." They are issuing many attractive volumes
for the little people, even though the holidays are over, and among
those destined to a permanent place in juvenile literature, we notice
"_At Home and Abroad; or, How to Behave_." By Mrs. Manners. "Pleasure
and Profit," an admirable series of stories on the Lord's Prayer, was
the first claim put forth by this pleasant friend and instructress
upon the attention of the little people and their elders. The praise
which it won will be still farther secured to the authoress by her
second book, which is _exactly what was needed in_ _every nursery
and school-room in the country_, and we predict that it will become
a text-book speedily. There is running through every chapter the
kindliest Christian politeness, the truest of all, as well as many
judicious hints on the customs of good society; and yet, with all its
valuable instruction, it is neither dull nor prosy, but a series of
interesting stories, conversations, or rather "talks," in the most
good-natured and cheerful vein. We fancy this will be the most popular
of the series, in which the "Pet Bird," by Cousin Alice, "Pleasure and
Profit," and many others are numbered. It is published in a uniform
style with these.

Then, again, for still younger people, is the capital
"_Laughter-Book_," and "_Naughty Boys and Girls_," with their broad
German mirth and brilliant pictures; the wonderful "_Adventures of a
Dog_," with text and illustration to make any boy's holiday feast:
"_Pretty Poll_," also illustrated; and, above all, that perfect gem
for the nursery, "_The Book of Songs_," with its quaint nursery tales
and quiet hymns, illustrated by no less a pencil than Birket Foster,
of English celebrity. We particularly commend the editorial taste and
style in the letter-press and illustrations of all these volumes.


"HELEN" desires to know if it is proper to allow the salesman at
a shoe-store to fit on boots and slippers. If by proper she means
customary, we reply in the affirmative; and, indeed, if the attendant
is respectful, there can be nothing more to say. If in the least rude,
his employer should at once be spoken to; a few such lessons would
teach civility. In Philadelphia, and sometimes in New York, ladies
are the attendants, which is much more agreeable, and should be made
a general custom. Whenever the reverse is the case, the motto of the
"garter" should be taken for the shoe--"_Honi soit qui mal y pense._"

"MISS L. S. D." will find a reply to her queries in our "Centre-Table
Gossip." We prefer the old style of canvas-work, which should never
be done in the evening hour, as the threads of the canvas, counting
stitches, or sorting the wools strains the strongest eyes. Filling up
the groundwork is not so objectionable.

"LA TABLIER"--Aprons are _not_ worn in the street, but are very
fashionable for morning or home-dress. They are two breadths wide,
and reach a little below the knee, and can be made of plain black or
fancy silk, with outside pockets or not, at pleasure. Velvet ribbon and
galloon are sometimes used in trimming them. Others are flounced across
the bottom by graduated ruffles, or ornamented by knots of ribbon in
the old style.

"E. JANE B." need not fear that we will betray her inquiries to any
of her acquaintances. We cannot recommend any perfectly safe cosmetic
but soap and water, disapproving of the whole plan. Elder-flower
water is said to be efficacious, and is certainly simple. Powder of
any kind will _eventually_ dry up the skin, and produce wrinkles and
discoloration, however much it may seem to improve the complexion at

"A SOUTHERN SUBSCRIBER" must remember that we have no claims to
medical skill as a journal. The word dyspepsia explains the nature of
the ailment. It came from the Greek, and signifies, "I digest with
difficulty." For the oppression he speaks of after meals, we have
always found a cup of water taken clear, and as hot as it is possible
to drink it, the best remedy. Ginger, or any other stimulant, has its
mischievous reaction or consequent.

"MRS. C." can have the curtains cleaned at any dyers; they are the
persons to apply to, and will often restore them wonderfully. The shawl
will probably look almost as well as new, though crapes have invariably
a stiff, _washed_ look that betrays them.

"ROSA" will find that we continue our gardening hints, finding them
very popular. As regards the other matter, she will find all necessary
information in "Godey's Hand-Book of Dress-making," just published.

"A SCHOOL-GIRL" should never use common brown soap if she is liable
to chapped hands, as it contains turpentine, which roughens the skin.
Oatmeal will answer instead of any soap; also, honey softens the skin.

"A HOUSEKEEPER."--French mustard differs materially from what is used
in England, for vinegar, more or less, enters into the composition,
and the grain itself is not the same; the finer sorts have always the
addition of aromatic herbs, so that there are no less than twenty-four
different sorts of French mustard. The common kind is made with the
grain of the Lenvoyè, which is of a darker color than English mustard
seed. It is ground up with vinegar on a stone slab, and then put into
pots for use. Provide yourself with the senevè or senvy seed, and then
reduce it to a fine powder, mixing it with the French vinegar sold by
the grocers.



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._--Morning or home-dress, of violet-colored cashmere,
embroidered with black, in a new and very elegant style. The basque
has deep points, and a trimming to correspond extends up the points
and surrounds the sleeves. Chemisette in imitation of a vest pattern;
sleeves and cap of Honiton lace.

_Fig. 2d._--Dinner or evening-dress of pale rose-colored watered silk,
made perfectly plain, with a tunic skirt end _berthé_ cape of a white
brocaded pattern. The hair is arranged in very rich puffs and bands,
and dressed with rose-colored plumes falling to the throat.


(_See Plate._)

We give the pattern of a beautiful dressing-gown in needle-work
embroidery. It may be done on plain cashmere or merino for winter, or
muslin or cambric as a summer dress. It consists of a petticoat and
sacque, the latter loose, with flowing sleeves.


February, with its few mild days, is still to be reckoned as one of
the winter months by dress as well as the calendar. The shop windows
themselves present very few novelties, and the side-walk none at all.
The endless varieties of cloaks and mantillas--the Hungarian, the
Galeta, the Nabob, the Victoria, the Norma--are still in season, and
the winter bonnets, with their profusion of trimming inside and out,
will be worn until April. We particularly notice for the benefit of
those having a large or expensive stock on hand, the edict of a late
foreign fashion journal: _although large collars are the fashion_, it
must not be _supposed_ that _small ones are altogether laid aside_.
They are still worn with cloth and merino dresses, and for the street,
as large ones do not set well over cloaks and mantillas. Plain linen
collars and undersleeves are still worn for the street, and travelling,
and for the morning.

For making dresses, there are every variety of sleeves. For
morning-dresses, the fulness at the wrist is gathered into a wide cuff
turned over. It is a mistake to copy the full-puffed or slashed sleeve
of Charles V.'s costume with any other style of waist. Such fanciful
costumes should not be copied piecemeal; they lose all their effect.
Better be a little behind the fashion. Costumes invented for rich
materials expressly cut a very shabby figure in mousselines or chintzes.

Basques are as much in fashion as ever, the favorite style being
renamed "Odette Bodies." The basque, or lappets, being of the same
piece as the body--not attached to it, but gored out, as it were, over
the hips. For slender waists, the Parisian dress-makers have used
gathered bodies, with the lappets sewed on, as the Odette body, being
quite plain, is not considered becoming.

We conclude our chat by an article upon mourning, copied from a
valuable little publication, to which we would call the attention of
our lady readers. The title is significant--"HOW TO MAKE A DRESS: _a
Help to those who wish to Help themselves_." The American edition
is altered and enlarged by our own editress, from whom we quote the
following chapter:--


"Some guiding hints as to the choice of mourning goods, and the general
effect of close and half mourning, may not be amiss.

"Close mourning, more commonly called _deep_ mourning, is usually worn
only for the nearest relations--a husband, parents, child, brother,
or sister. A widow's mourning, called 'weeds' in England, is not so
distinct in this country. There the close tarleton or muslin cap, with
its crimped border, is its accompaniment for a year at least. The
fashion has of late years been adopted in this country, particularly in
New York, where it is so common as not longer to excite the curiosity
it called out at first, when worn by young persons. Bombazine, trimmed
with folds of crape (the dress, mantilla, and bonnet), with a veil
of double Italian or heavy English crape, is considered the deepest
mourning. Nothing white, as collar, cuffs, or undersleeves, is worn by
those who thus follow the dictates of fashion, even in their sorrow,
through the first six months or year.

"Another style--also considered deep, and usually worn for parents
or children--allows of a variety of material, as black cashmere,
mousseline, Tamese cloth, alpaca, etc. etc., trimmed with silk or
ribbon, even plain braids and galloons. Undersleeves and collars of
Swiss muslin, tarleton, or linen, relieve the sombre shade, and add a
neatness to the dress which it can never have where black crape is used
for the purpose. This is the most general style.

"A lighter mourning is black silk trimmed lightly with crape, mode
bonnet, etc. etc.

"Again, half mourning admits of as great a variety in shade and
material as colors; lead and stone colors being considered appropriate;
lavender, and even deep purple, are often used. What is thus
denominated 'dressy black,' or, by the witty author of 'How to get
Married,' 'mitigated grief,' seems to us to lose the sacredness with
which sorrow usually invests the dress of a mourner.

"In choosing mourning goods, the first essential, _even before
quality_, is a good shade of black, neither blue nor rusty; a dead,
solid color is considered most desirable. If possible, have the dress,
mantle, and bonnet from the same piece, either in bombazine or silk.
It gives the whole dress the same shade, and will wear alike. Never
get a cheap material in black; it will be sure to fade or grow rusty.
Here, especially, _the dearest is always the cheapest in the end_.
For constant wear, we prefer cashmeres, or even plain mousselines, to
bombazines. Black English chintzes make nice morning-dresses, and fade
very little in washing. For summer wear, _barèges_, silk tissues, and
grenadines are considered deep mourning. The cross-barred _barège_ is
the strongest, and grenadines of good quality will wear several years.

"Although not exactly belonging to our present purpose, we would
mention that drawn hats of crape and grenadine, or even black straws
trimmed with crape, are appropriate to the second style of dress we
have mentioned, when the heat of the weather is too great for bombazine
and silk.

"Veils are of double crape, single English, and crape lisse. 'Love
veils' are a thick tissue or grenadine, with a deep silk border.

"In making up mourning, if in a thick material, a lead-colored lining
will be sufficiently dark; in a thin material, it is usual to have the
lining covered with thin Florence silk. Black linen will, however,
answer the purpose. It should be boiled first in salt and water, and
pressed out while damp. Black cambric, etc., will color the skin, and
the stain be found very difficult to efface. The same is true of plain
black lawns as a dress material.

"Very little trimming suffices for mourning; indeed, the very intention
of the dress would be lost if much were used. We know this is often
the case; but it is sanctioned neither by taste nor economy. We have
even seen _ruffled bombazines_. We object to them decidedly. Folds, by
general consent, seem to be the most appropriate style; in the first
place, from the thickness of the material generally in use, and again,
from the plainness of the effect which is generally required. Broad
flat galloons have also been the style the present year; but that is
only a transient shade of fashion.

"As travelling has always its accompaniment of dust, gray dresses are
almost invariably worn even by those in deep mourning. There is a
material of silk and linen which will be found very serviceable, and
is sufficiently dark trimmed with black braid. As there can be very
little variety in close mourning, _neatness is considered its principal
elegance_, and is the point to be aimed at."


FOR 1853 AND 1854.


    And most splendid Series of Legends, Nouvellettes, Romances,
    Stories, &c., ever offered to the American Public.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Publisher of "Scott's Weekly Paper," in making his announcement
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stating that his popular Family Journal for the coming year will present


and marks of distinguished ability entirely unprecedented in newspaper
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extended to his favourite paper in


and determined, regardless of expense, to place it in a position above
all competition, he has entered into arrangements with the leading


by which he will be enabled to furnish his subscribers with _THE
CHOICEST LITERARY GEMS_ ever offered in a weekly journal.

       *       *       *       *       *

Among the _NEW FEATURES_ of the coming year, the publisher would
announce a new and brilliant series of _POPULAR ROMANCES_ from the
gifted and distinguished pen of



written expressly for "_Scott's Weekly Paper_," and now first offered
to the public.

All who enjoyed the rare felicity of reading MR. LIPPARD'S famous
"=LEGENDS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION=," published in the "_Saturday
Courier_" _for fifty-six consecutive weeks_, will, we feel satisfied,
be delighted with the prospect of a new series, embracing the leading
events in American and French history during the last hundred years.
The scenes, incidents, and characters of this, his last work, have
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the records, reminiscences, and popular traditions of the people of
both continents, and form the most reliable _HISTORICAL CYCLOPEDIA_
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the original power, brilliancy, and classic beauty of style, which
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lovers of _A SOUND AMERICAN LITERATURE_; and we feel proud in having
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As Mr. Lippard will contribute solely to "Scott's Weekly Paper," the
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In connection with the above-named Legends of the Olden Time, we have
the satisfaction to announce that


the eminent Novelist, author of "Viola," "The Forged Will," and other
works of unmistakable genius, has been engaged to write one or more
=POPULAR NOUVELLETTES=, the publication of which will shortly be

These will be followed by


splendidly illustrated story, entitled


the incidents of which are taken from the early history of the hardy
Pioneers of Kentucky.

To these, we expect to add contributions from the following
_DISTINGUISHED FEMALE WRITERS_, with whom negotiations are now

    =Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz=,      =Mrs. D. E. N. Southworth=,
           =Mrs. M. A. Dennison, and Lille Lilberne=:

So that it may be fairly presumed and confidently promised that
_SCOTT'S WEEKLY PAPER_, in excellence, variety, and originality of
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The Paper will also contain the choicest selections from the best
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on Current Events, Domestic and Foreign News, Graphic Letters on the
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       *       *       *       *       *


  _ONE COPY_,    _One Year_,                              $2
  _TWO COPIES_,      "                                     3
                                                          _Full Price_  $4
  _FOUR COPIES_,     "                                     5
                                                                 "      10
  _NINE COPIES_,     "
                 _and one to the getter-up of the Club_, 10
                                                                 "      20
  _TWENTY COPIES_,   "      "      "        "       "     "
                                                          20     "      42

    Address, postpaid,       A. SCOTT, Publisher,

    _No. 111 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa._





    Eighty large, double-column Octavo Pages of Choice Reading
    Matter in each Number. Elegantly Illustrated with Steel and Wood


       *       *       *       *       *

In conducting this work, the editor (T. S. Arthur) pledges himself to
keep its pages free from everything that is ill-natured, profane, or
vulgar; while, at the same time, he will seek to impart thereto the
highest possible degree of interest.

Of its quality we will let the press speak. From hundreds of editorial
notices of a highly commendatory character, the following are taken:--

ARTHUR'S HOME MAGAZINE.--The publishers of this valuable monthly have
added a new feature to its attractiveness. The second volume, beginning
with the number for July, opens with a beautiful steel plate, besides
a great number of fine wood engravings. The Home Magazine only lacked
this feature, of illustrations, to make it not only one of the best,
but one of the most beautiful and attractive of all our monthlies. With
this addition, it will certainly rank among the first, if not at the
head of the list.--_Journal, Greenville, N. Y._

Arthur's editorial department is characterized by sense, energy, and
progress.--_Philadelphia Delta._

Parents, if you wish to create and foster a love for reading in your
children, obtain Arthur's Magazine.--_Courier of Reform, Concord, N. H._

Arthur's Home Magazine is before us in its endless variety. It is the
finest breakfast-table companion we meet with. A person can peruse its
pages with pleasure and profit for a moment, or for hours.--_Herald,
Fond du Lac, Mich._

This monthly, although one of the youngest, is certainly one of the
most popular periodicals in the country.--_Philadelphia Inquirer._

This periodical should be a "standard" in every
family.--_Intelligencer, Amsterdam, N. Y._

Arthur's Home Magazine is rapidly making its way into public
favor, as it deserves, and will, before very long, assume its
place among the best and most widely circulated magazines in our
country.--_Philadelphia News._

We can confidently recommend this magazine.--_Times, Maumee City, Ohio._

The contents are of the most interesting and useful character, and
it is exactly what it purports to be, a "Home" Magazine.--_Literary
Journal, Washington, Ind._

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._

The number before us is of rare interest, and we doubt not of its
success.--_Scientific American._

ARTHUR'S HOME MAGAZINE.--This monthly is a constant and welcome visitor
at our table, and should be in every family in the land. T. S. Arthur
has done, and is still doing, more to promote the dissemination of
chaste and unexceptionable literature among his countrymen than any
other writer of his times.--_Chronicle, Gowanda, N. Y._

ARTHUR'S HOME MAGAZINE.--This is an admirable magazine, conducted
with great ability, and is entirely free from everything that can
vitiate or in the least deprave the mind. It is just what it purports
to be, a _Home_ Magazine, eminently adapted to the wants of the
family.--_Miscellany, Thomaston, Me._

ARTHUR'S HOME MAGAZINE.--Eighty pages per month of choice reading for
$1 25. That is, four can club and get it for $5--a little less than ten
cents per month. You may pay twenty-five cents for a red-covered volume
by Mrs. Somebody, and the Home Magazine will be worth a dozen of that
same--Fact!--_Advertiser, Roxbury, Mass._

If you want good reading for your family, try the Home Magazine for a
year. The price is so low that you need not deprive yourself of any
favourite publication in order to make the experiment.

       *       *       *       *       *

Terms of Arthur's Home Magazine.

    One Copy for One Year,      $2 00
    Two Copies    "   "          3 00
    Three  "      "   "          4 00
    Four   "      "   "          5 00

[Illustration] All additional subscribers beyond four at the same rate,
that is, $1 25 per annum.

[Illustration] Where twelve subscribers and $15 are sent, the getter-up
of the club will be entitled to an additional copy of the Magazine.

[Illustration] _Send for specimen numbers._


[Illustration] For $3, a copy each of the _HOME GAZETTE_ and _HOME
MAGAZINE_ will be sent for one year.

[Illustration] For $3 50 a copy of each of _HOME MAGAZINE_ and _LADY'S
BOOK_ will be sent for one year.

    Address,       T. S. ARTHUR & Co.

    No. 107 Walnut Street. Philadelphia.

       *       *       *       *       *

    |                   Transcriber notes:                         |
    |                                                              |
    | P.124. 'how meagrely' changed to 'how meagerly'              |
    | P.147. 'crums' changed to 'crumbs'.                          |
    | P.159. 'had'nt' changed to 'hadn't'                          |
    | P.183. Taken hyphen out of 'excellent-book'.                 |
    | P.184. 'envelop' changed to 'envelope'.                      |
    | P.189. 'Miss Wharton's jewelry', was 'ewelry', changed.      |
    | Add 1: 'the followin' changed to 'the following'.            |
    | Music, page 1. bar 19, [g b], should be [g b], changed;      |
    |  bar 18, g,8.[ b8 d8] should be g,8.[ b16 d8], changed.      |
    | Fixed various punctuation.                                   |
    |                                                              |

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