LIBRARY OF THE PENNSYLVANIA STATE COLLEGE Class No. 0 15 Book No. G54 2310 1008 SONY LOUIS A. GÖDEY: OL. LXXIV. JANUARY. No. 489. GODEY'S HOLIDAY NUMBER. Its engravings and fashion-plates are perfect gems, and its literary contents are unsurpassed.- Independent Press, Bourbon, Indiana. 549 12. CODEY'S SOLEIL EDITED BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE, L. A. GODEY. Ver LADY'S BOOK. 1867. eiti 1867 PHILADELPHIA. LALDESPACH EUILA GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK For 1867. LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, AND FASHIONS I Edited by MRS. S. J. HALE and L. A. GODEY The publisher of Godey's Lady's Book, thankful to that public which has enabled him to publish a magazine for the last thirty-seven years of a larger circulation than any in America, has continued his arrungement with the most popular authoress in this couutry- MARION HARLAND, Authoress of "Alone,” “ Hidden Futh," "Moss Side,” “ Nemesis," and "Miriam,” who will furnish a novel for the Lady's Book for 1867. This alone will place the Lady's Book, in a literary point of view, far aheut of any other inagazine. Marion Harland writes for no other magazine. Our other favorite writers will all continuo to furnish articles throughout the year. Seventy-fourth and Seventy-fifth Volumes of GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK FOR 1867, WILL CONTAIN MORE Music, Colored and Uncolored Fashion-Plates, Steel and Wood Engravings, and Literary articles by the most celebrated authors, than any other magazine in America, THE OLDEST, THE BEST, AND THE CHEAPEST MAGAZINE, Usoful, Ornamental, and Instructive. THE ONLY LADY'S BOOK IN AMERICA. The immense increase in the circulation of Godey-having quintupled itself in the last six years—is a convincing proof of the superiority of the work, if the work itself was not sufficient evidence. And when it is considered that NOT A BRIBE in the shape of a premiuin has ever been offered, it shows that Godey's Lady's Book stands first in the hearts of American ladies, who subscribe for the sake of the Book and not the premium. THE LITERATURE of the Lady's Book is by the first writers in America, and has always been remarkable for its high literary and moral cha- racter. Clergymen recomiend the Book, and it can be read aloud in the family circle. The matter is far superior to that of any other magazine, having a healthy and instructive tone. Can any other work name such writers as MARION HARLAND, MRS. METTA VICTORIA VICTOR, MISS MARY W. JANVRIN, MISS VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND, MRS. S. J. HALE, S. ANNIE FROST, MRS. E. F. ELLET, BELLE RUTLEDGE, REV H. H. WELD, T. S. ARTHUR, and hosts of others ? SEVEN SPECIALITIES THAT NO OTHER MAGAZINE HAS, AND ONLY TO BE FOUND IN GODEY. “Original Music,” “Model Cottages, with diagrams,"." Drawing Lessons," "Children's Department," "Original Health Iepartment, “ Horticultural Department," and “Double Extension Fashion-plates." GODEY'S GREAT SPECIALITY, Unequalled and unapproached. 'Competition dead in this department. Our imitators have abandoned the attempt. OUR SPLENDID STEEL ENGRAVINGS. The unanimous voice of the press has pronounced Godey's engravings to be the best ever published in any magazine of the world, and equal to those published in the Annuals of Great Britain. You may look in vain for fourteen kuch steel Ogravings as have been published in the seventy-second and seventy-third volumes of this Book, and those for 1867 will surpass them. The desigu and execution of these plates have elicited general remark, not only in this country but in Eng- land. It is a singular fact that no other magazine goes to the expense of original designs for their steel engravings. GODEY'S IMMENSE: DOUBLE SHEET FASHION-PLATES, CONTAINING From five to seven full-length Colored Fashions on each Plate. FAR AHEAD OF ANY FASHIONS I EUROPE OR AMERICA. The Publication of these Plates coste : $10;000 More than Fashion-plates the style.and.moliyg, but our wonderfully large circulation enables us to give the.. miyazines cannot afford it. We never spare money when the public can be benefited. "These fashions may be relied on. Dresses may be made after them, and the wearer will not subject herself to wonld be the case if she visited the large cities dressed after the style of the plates given in some of our ko call magazines 2 (See third page of (.. La TABLE OF CONTENTS. VOL. LXXIV. 368 71 A Basket for Drying Salad (Illustrated), 85 A Conceit, by Neale Bernard, 168 Acting Charade-Whimsical, by G. H. J., 358 Adieu, by John D. Kavanagh, 514 Advice to Readers, 621 A Fancy Stitch in Crochet à Tricoter (Illustrated), Affection Strengthens the Heart, 267 A Leaf from my Friend's Diary, by Mrs. L. S. Good- voin, 440 A Leaf from our Phunugraphic Album (Illustrated), 201, 293, 385 Alice Thorne's "Adventure," by Mary W. Janorin, 328 Ail the Way Apart, by Mary J. Crosman, 446 Alphabet for Bead or Worsted Work (Illustrated), 84 Alphabet for Crochet, Tapestry, etc. (Illust'd), 402, 495 A Mother's Love, 39 A Natural Enough Scruple, 199 \A New Year's at the Chinchas, by S. A. Emery, 55 An Item for the Home Circle, 53 Antimacassar in Embroidery and Appliqué over White Net (Illustrated), 132 An Unhappy Likeness, by Charles D. Gardette, 247 A Pair of Crochet Over-Boots for Ladies (Ilust'd), 183 1 April Fool's Day, by S. Annie Frost, 338 Apron with Cluny Guipure (Illustrated), 499 Aprons (IUustrated), 404, 499 A Serenade, by B. F. Spalding, 361 A Stag Hunt by Torchlight in the Olden Time, 379 A Sweet Temper, 545 At Home and Abroad, by Mary W. Janvrin, 72 Aunt Rachel, by Clara Augusta, 527 A Winter Sunset, by Henrietta J. Myers, 168 A Wreath for Belle's Album, by Leumas, 65 Baby's Shoe in Crochet (Illustrated),) 366 Bead Bell-Pull (Illustrated), $649 Bead Frame for Photographs (Illustrated), 459 “ Be it ever so Humble, there is no place like Home,” (Illustrated), 491 Blue and Brown Mittens, in Berlin Wool, 184 Bonnets, Hats, etc. (Illustrated), 82, 224, 314, 363, 408, 456, 546 Braiding and Embroidery Design (Illustrated), 315 Braiding Design (Illustrated), 26, 90, 494, 500 By the Mill, by Miss Rosaline Benedict, 64 Caps (Illustrated), 130 Case for Knitting or Crochet Needles (Illustrated), 28 Case for Threaded Needles (IUustrated), 648 Childhood, 246 Chrysanthemums, by A. M. Dana, 44 Cloaks, DRESSES, MANTILLAS, TALMAS, ETC. Children's Dresses (Illustrated), 83, 84, 313, 347 Dinner-Dress (Illustrated), 84, 178 Dress for a Child (Illustrated), 547 Dresses for a Watering-Place (Illustrated), 496, 568 Evening-Dress (Illustrated), 83, 179, 271 Home-Dress (Tlustrated), 179 Morning-Dre18 (Illustrated), 179, 495 Morning or Breakfast Jacket (Illustrated), Morning Robe (Illustrated), 20 Paletot Leorne (Illustrated), 221 Promenade Suits (Illustrated), 21, 22, 126, 127 Ristori Jacket (Illustrated), 128, 129 Spring Costame for a Bay ("Uustrated), 272 Spring Costume for a Young Lady (Illustrated), 218 Bpring Costumes (Illustrated), 310 Spring Costumes for Children (Illustrated), 313, 386 Spring Dresses (Illustrated), 312 Spring Dresses with Gored Skirts (Illustrated), 403 Spring Riding Costumes (Illustrated), 402 Spring Walking Costume (Illustrated), 219 Suits for Children (Illustrated), 23 The Agnesi (Illustrated), 220 The Aspasine Mantle (Iứustrated), 311 The Fantasio (Illustruted), 221 The Gabrielle (Illustrated), 220 The Irene Jacket (Illustrated), 24, 25 The Rivoli Sack (illustrated), 311 Walking-Dress for a Young Girl (Illustrated), 362 Coiffures (Illustrated), 361, 498, 548 Contentment, 53 Conversation, Cotton-Box (illustrated), 551 Country Residence (Illustrated), 104 Crochet Border (Illustrated), 550 Crochet Circle (İlustrated), 459 Crochet Net for a Night-cap (Illustrated), 550 Crochet Pattern (Illustrated), 316 Crochet Smoking-Cap (Illustrated), 89 Croquet; Its Implements and Laws, 141, 235, 326 Design for Braiding and Beads (Illustrated), 600 Design for Braiding and Embroidery (Illustrated), 90 Design for Canvas Work (IUustrated), 277 Design for the End of a Fancy Scarf (Illustrated), 88 Design for Working on Net, with thick Soft Cotton or Floss Silk (IUustrated), 128 Disputing, 45 Down by the Beach, by Barton Key Briscoe, 240 Drawing Lessons (Illustrated), 64, 253, 439 Early Spring, by W., 448 Editors' Table, containing- A Finished Picture of Philadelphia Women, 372 A Lady Librarian, 558 A Maygar Poem, 469 Books, 192 Boys and Girls, 657 Causes of Idiocy, 508 Civilization in India, 373 Confectionery, 374 Culture of the Lungs, 558 Dinner-Table Decorations, 192 Distortion of the Spine, 192 Doindstic Science, 283 Dress and its Influences, 556 Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-seven, 94 Fairy Books for Children, 469 Feet upon my Knee, 294 Free National Normal Schools for Young Women, 95 Friends, 192 Health of the Hair, 559 Hints about Health, 96, 192, 284, 374, 470, 659 How shall we Help the Poor? 191 How to Breathe, 470 Influence of Women, by Hon. Daniel Webster, Jelly from the Raspings of Ivory, 192 Ladyhood, 466 Little Girls, 284 Love, by F. Emerson Judd 283 Maxims for Lovers, 374 Motherhood, 558 National Normal Schools and Seminaries of House- hold Science for Young Women, 95 Now Novels, 192 New Proverbs : Love and Friendship, 469 Notes and Notices, 96, 192, 283, 374, 469, 5 558 Our Women's Union Mission, 469 Pure Air, 470 Photographs of Philadelphia Women, 281 Pictures of Patriotism and Duty, 281 Pictures of Piety and Love, 281 Preparation for the “Plan," 95 Reflections on English Ladies, 374 Regimen, etc., for Hooping-Cough, 192 Science for Girls, 190 Selected Aphorisms, 558 Sewing Machine for Woman's Mission, 374 Sisterhood Societies, 557 The Best Accomplishment for Young Ladies, The Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, 469 The Craig Microscope, 192 The Foster Home Association, 469 The New Institution, 282 The Three Sceptres. A Vision, 373 To Vasari, 557 Union Volunteer Refreshment Saloon 372 Useful Learning, 374 Value of a Sewing-Machiue, 192 Vassar College, 374 What is Beauty ? 192 What Woman should Do, 96 Who are the Criminals ? 658 Who are the Good, 96 Woman's Fame, 191 Woman's National Art Association, 96 Woman's Work, 193 Women and Children in America, 467 Women iu China, 374 iii 990 4424 1911 80 153074 iv TABLE OF CONTENTS. Eider Ducks and Eider Down in Iceland, SSO Embroidery for Pillow and Bolster-cases (IU'd), 132 Embroidery, Inserting, etc., 24, 25, 88, 90, 132, 184, 186, 218, 277, 310, 315, 461, 500, 551, 552 Embroidery suitable for silk or Cotton (IUustrated), 88 End of a Neck-tie (Illustrated), 181 Entirely at Home, by Marion Harland, 133 Esquire Grey's Dog'; or, How Gossip is Made, by Belle Rutledge, 430 Ethel, by Florence Hartland, 352 Evening, by Alice, 39 Eyes, not their Owners, by S. A. R., 423 Faithful Forever, by Hattie B., 234 Family Courtesies, 378 Fancy Basque (Illustrated), 181 Fancy Border (Illustrated), 499 Fancy End of a Collar (Illustrated), 463 Faucy Neck-tie (Illustrated), 273 Fashions, 106, 202, 224, 386, 478, 568 Fiction, 236 Figures for Crochet, Tapestry, etc. (Illustrated), 406, 495 Floral Ear-rings (Illustrated), 273 Foot-Cushion in Braid-Work, 185 Tootstool with a Hot Bottle (Illustrated),, 275 “For Better, for Worse," by Marion Harland, 317, 409, 501 Gentleman's Braided Slipper (Illustrated), 364, 365 Gentleman's Dressing-Gown (Illustrated), 26 Giving is not Losing, by Julia S. Tutwiler, 325 Godey's Arm-Chair, 100, 196, 287, 376, 472, 561 Golden Maxims for Families, 270 Gone, by Mrs. M. W. Hackelton 177 Good Coffee, and the True Method of Preparing it, 474 Hanging Border (Illustrated), 27 Hat Pegs (Illustrated), 27 Hats and Caps (Illustrated), 408 Haunted, by Eliza F. Moriarty, 422 Hood for a Little Girl (Illustrated), 178 Hope and Courage, 140 Hygiene, by Mrs. Hopkinson, 258 Idolatry, by Mrs. Hopkinson, 420 In an Album, by Marshall P. Beach, 325 Infant's Basket (Illustrated), 404, 458 Justice and Mercy, 225 Juvenile Department-containing Cupid's Coming, 565 Fairy Tale Tableaux, 103, 198 Heart, Part, and Key (Illustrated), 393 My Lady's Toilet, 103 Noah's Dove (Illustrated), 103 Oranges and Lemons, 565 Red-cap and Blue-cap, 562 Rhyme and Reason, 198 The Butterfly, 383 The Fagots, 565 The Lawyer, 291 The Little Loaf, 198 The Sea and her Children, 198 The Schoolmistress, 291 The Watch man, 383 Knitted Border for a Bedquilt (IUustrated), 86 Knowledge, 445 Ladies at Auctions, 146 Ladies Mittens, in Berlin Work, 87 Lady's Under Waistcoat (Illustrated), 182 Leave a Name Behind, 345 Le Marche de Nuit, by B-, 236 Lessons of Wisdom, 631 Letter for the Centre of a Large Square Pillow (Ill'd), 458 Letters for Marking (Illustrated), 181, 222, 367, 458 Linen Collar (Illustrated), 180 Literary Notices, 97, 193, 284, 376, 470, 551 Little Children, 531 Loss of Relations and Friends, 267 Marriage and Sugarplums, by Virginia de Forrest, 361 Monogram for a Pocket-Handkerchief (Illustrated), 367 Music-containing General Curley's March, by Charles W. Ohm, 124 Mamma's Lullaby, by Papa, 400 Mary Anerly, by H. Dreroer, 216 Pine Bluff Quickstep, by Mrs. Lizzie Bowers, 308 Thou 'rt not the Same, by J. Starr Holloway, 18 Wild Bird Schottische, by B. L. Curtise, 492 My Experience, by S. Annie Frost, 522 My Only Lover, by Miss Susan Smith, 254 My Photograph, by R. H. E., 341 Ned Bryant's Ward, by Mrs. H. G. Rowe, 499, 532 Netted Nightcap (Ilustrated), 365 New Style of Caps (Illustrated), 130 New Style of Dress (Illustrated), 494 New Styles for Dressing the Hair (Illustrated), 498, 868 New Styles of Hats (Illustrated), 224 New Year's at Leigh House, by S. Annie Frost, 40 Night-dress (Illustrated), 180 No Such Word as Fail. A Dramatic Proverb, by Bel- phegor, 299 Novelties for the Month (Illustrated), 81, 178, 271, 362, 456, 646 One Woman's Resolutlon, by Mrs. Denison, 46 Opinion, 80 Origin of Vegetables, 380 Our Musical Column, 101, 197, 288, 378, 473, 672 Our Need, by Lillian, 357 Over the Way, by Sophie de Lamater, 66 Paris Items, 199, 291, 565 Pattern for a Lady's Chemise (Illustrated), 404 Pattern for a Napkin Ring (Illustrated), 651 Pattern for a Pocket-Book, etc. (Illustrated), 277 Patterns for Marking Kitchen Hand-cloths (IU'd), 652 Pen-wiper in the Shape of a Dog (Illustrated), 367 Pen-wiper in the Shape of a Jockey's Cap (IŲnst'd), 276 Proper Time and Mode for Cutting Flowers, 381 Raised Embroidery (Illustrated), 273 Receipts, etc., 91, 187, 278, 370, 464, 553 Religion, 45 Residence of John W. Thomas, Chelton Hill, (IUI), 200 Respect due to Wives, 361 Rings, 169 Sell Flattery, 340 Sense versus Sentiment, by Emma J. Buckley, 515 Sleeping in Church (Illustrated), 399 Smoking Chair (Illustrated), 366 Somebody's Darling, by Ernest Bell, 168 Song, by S. J., 429 So Tired, by Mrs. Fannie Lockwood, 540 Spending a Penny (IUustrated), 17 Spotted Crochet (Ilustrated), 368 Spring Bonnets (Illustrated), 314 Spring Rain, by E. O. K., 429 Spring-Time, by R. M. M.. 345 St. Valentine's Day, 176 Summer Fancies, by D. L. P., 608 Swiss Cottage for Wafers, Pins, Pens, etc. (Iul'd), 462 Ten Years and Two Hearts, by Belle Rutledge, 156 The Birthday Present, by Caroline Orne, 609 The Fountain of Youth, by Mrs. Harriet Benedict, 147 The Gardener, translated from the German of Shen- kendorf, by E. K. G., 526 The Heart's Secret, by M. A. M., 71 The Hilda Apron (Illustrated), 404 The Hoop Mania (Illustrated), 307 The Little Strategist, by the author of “ The Vertical Railway," "Seventeen," etc., 148 The Melanie Bonnet (Illustrated), 497 Theory versus Practice, by Marion Harland, 225 The Power of Love, by D. W. Belisle, 268 The Robins (Illustrated), The Shermans, by S. Annie Frost, *9 The Testa Bonnet (Illustrated), 407 The Three Paths, by Aloysia Francis, 267 The True Gentleman, 267 The Two Valentines, by Mary Forman, 144 The Use of Colors of Dress, by s. M., 613 The Value of Prudence, 448 The Violet, translated from the German of Gathe, by E. K. G., 445 The Winter Rose, 234 The Wonders of the Railway, 198 Time's Progress, 337 Tissue-Paper Hyacinths (Illustrated), 549 To Arrie, by Albert, To Miss Mattie Wheelice, by Virginius Hutchen, 438 Too Late, by Mary W. Janvrin, 641 Touching our Homes, by Claribella Cluny, 336 Toothpick or Match Safe (Illustrated), 406, 407 Tranquillity, 168 Travelling Dressing-Case (Illustrated), 223, 276 Trifles, 71 Trimming for Under-Petticoats, Dressos, Bodices, etc. (Illustrated), 129, 461 Truant Susie, by M. Louisa Southwick, 232 True Love can Never Die, by Marshall P. Beach, 155 Twilight, by Constance Bruce, 445 Two New Stitches in Berlin Work (Illustrated), 276 Uncle Moses' Stratagem, by C. A. C. H., 261, 346 Unheeded Voices, by James Ristine, 531 Ursule Athoy, by Franc Smythe, 171 Valentine's Day (Illustrated), 123 Village or Suburban Residence (Illustrated), 292, 384, Weary, by Constance Bruce, 327 When I was young, by ctarenae F. Buhler, 337 Winter All the Year, by Neale Bernard, 59 Work-Bag (Illustrated), 130, 131, 183 476, 600 FANCY SLIPPER. otocoa DOTTO The figures and the filling to be worked in different colors. The † shows where the two pieces are to be joined together. GO ORO 000 0 @ 0 00 OOO be 09 00 @ 00000 O D TOO c 1 OG O 10 O 000 000 OOOOOO Doa QOQO OOOO OOOO000 0 000 OOOOOO OOO ac OO 100 DODOC DOOOOOO GOOOD O alo OOO OOO 0 oooo @ 19 00 OOOOO OD Ole 10 10 OoQon O a De 000 Olo a 0000 le QO OTO DO. . O Q00 00 Da fo 0 OD ola o Ooo Q ololo OOOOO DO 010 Og 10 10900 TLOVO DOO 090000000 JOO 000 COQ000 @GOOD 1000 Com D 10 100 DO 199000 9000 Q000 Woo 0.000 QO ora O000 m O 090 OOOO OO O 1000 Olo OOOO Ooo 000 0000 D 2000 OOOOO 00 Q0 100 Dudding QUOD OUTO Wp9900 COLLINS, PRINTER, - THOU'RT NOT THE SAME. noto I the glance that seek-eth thine, been false as thou to me. I know Thy hand my brow is cloud-ed is cold, thy heart is oft, cold, And tears Thou hast un-shed my eyes doth blind, no gladsome smile for me, Perchance my heart hath grown less No cheer-ful word; the tale is soft told 1 Since thou I am hast prov'd-ah less, not what I was ah to less thee than kind! to thee! 2 MORNING ROBE. (From Messrs. CurwEN STODDANT & BROTHER, 450 North Second Street, Philadelphia.) tatata WAAR 20 Brown cashmere robe, with deep band of blue on the edge, and a rich bordering in brilliant Persian colors. 20 PROMENADE SUIT, Skirt of blue poplin, with gored paletot overdress of black. The revers are lined with blue silk and trimmed with black velvet. The bonnet is of blue velvet, trimmed with jet and blue flowers. 21 PROMENADE SUIT. 1 Skirt of purple cashmere, trimmed with a pointed band of fancy plush cloth. Dreas of gray poplin, turned up in front, and fastened in a kdot at the back. Hall tight-itting sack of heavy spotted plush cloth, finished with a chenille fringe. Hat of gray felt, trimmed with purple velvet. Brots of black and white checked cloth. 22 Design for Working on Net, with thick Soft Cotton or Floss Silk. N SUITS FOR CHILDREN. + Wallon Fig. 1.-Little girl's suit of wine-colored poplin, trimmed with black velvet. The hat is of black velvet, bordered with a band of peacock's feathers. Polish boots of black kid, finished with wine-colored tassels. Fig. 2-Boy's suit of gray cloth, trimmed with bands of black velvet studded with large pearl buttons. The hat is of gray cloth to match the suit. 23 Embroidery. ooooo 00000000000 0000000000000 ole 2960300 THE IRENE JACKET. (Front viero.) This very graceful model is made of black velvet, very fully trimmed with a passementerie of jet and chalk beads. The edge is finished with a rich fringe of chalk and jet beads, matching the other trimming. The jacket is closed half way dowo, showing the whole waist underneath. It then slopes suddenly off to the back, where it springs into a 24 Embroidery. THE IRENE JACKET. (Back view.) basque. A wide waistband encircles the waist and falls behind in two large bows with ends. This style of jacket is suitable for black or colored silkr. It also makes up effectively in cloth, or of the same material as the skiri. We give two views, in order that our readers may be able to cut it without difficulty. 2* 25 Braiding Design. 2 ہی رہی و کرو۔ GENTLEMAN'S DRESSING-GOWN, Made of gray cashmere, lined and quilted with crimsou silk. The curd and tassel should also be of crimson silk to match the lining 26 HAT PEGS. an This stand is meant to be placed in an ante-room, and will be useful to hang the hats of visitors during a call, or even the bonnet of a lady who is spending the day or evening in the house. Those ladies, and we hope there are many, who love to adorn every part of their home, will find pleasure in working this elegant pattern. The stand consists of an oval frame of polished black wood, with a peg on either side, one of which is considerably longer than the other. The frame is filled up with a pattern of Berlin work. HANGING BORDER, III This beautifal border for a mantelpiece or bracket may be worked entirely of beads, or in a mixture of wool, silk, and beads. Or the fringe only may be of beads of two colors, and the upper part of the border be worked entirely in wool. 27 CASE FOR KNITTING OR CROCHET NEEDLES. This convenient little article is formed of a sheet of perforated card slit at intervals to admit of a parrow velvet or ribbon being passed through to form a checkered pattern, as seen in Fig. 1. The white blocks are then crossed with Fig. 1. XX zephyr, or chenille, matching the ribbon in shade. The case is edged round with a quilled velvet, and finished with buttons and elastic bands, as represented in Fig. 2. The inside, which is represented in Fig. 3, is lined with cashmere Fig. 2. HD Fig. 3. or flannel, and furnished with small sheaihs of kid or leather, having the numbers of the needles embroidered on them. The small cross straps may be of leather or velvet, finished on the edge in button-hole stitch. 28 GODEY'S Lady's Book and Magazine. PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1867. "ENTIRELY AT HOME." BY XARIOX HARLAXD. (Batered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by Louis A. Godes, in the clerk's office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.) “This horrid weather is ruining the sleigh thing as sleighing,' responded Jeannie, color. ing!” said Jeannie Hughes, in a melancholy ing and smiling. “There should be a winter tone, leaving the window at which she had version of the proverb-Make hay while been standing for the last fifteen minutes. the sun shines'--the snow lasts so short a The view from her lookout was not inspirit time." ing. A steady, steeping rain had set in at I liked sleighing for its own sake quite as dawn, and continued without intermission well as did Jeannie, although my seat, on until the present hour-half past ten o'clock such excursions, was beside my hostess upon A.M. The preceding day had likewise been the back seat of the family equipage, afore- tempestuous, but it was what Jeannie called said. But I was not jealous of my pretty "a clean storm”-a fall of snow that kept friend; sympathized heartily in her regret at nobody at home except invalids and cowards. missing two opportunities of improving the By the middle of the afternoon the great present season in company with handsome, family sleigh and two cutters were at the warm-hearted Dick; mourned with and for door, and we four girls, with our attendant her over the bright visions disappearing, like cavaliers, our host, hostess, and their bright dissolving views, before the pertinacious driz- eyed eldest hope-a fine lad of ten, who pre zle, that, for some reason, was more wearing ferred a seat on the box to what he considered to our spirits and destructive to our hopes the tame interior of the vehicle-being com than a sweeping deluge would have been. So, fortably bestowed within these, we had en when she said, “horrid rain," we three- joyed a merry, rollicking ride, finding only Rosie Winters, Alice Townes, and I-sitting additional food for fun in the fast-coming over the fire with our embroidery and crochet- fleeces, that soon transformed us into the needles, sighed responsively, and agreed that semblance of polar bears. nothing could be more dismal than a January “ Rather heavy for runners, as yet!” I thaw, such as we foresaw was at hand. heard Dick Hornby say to Jeannie, as he “What have you girls been doing with the helped her out of the fairy-like shell, heaped morning since breakfast ?" asked a lively up with frosted robes. "To-morrow, the voice, and Mrs. Granger, whose guests we roads will be in splendid order. How will were so happy as to be, entered, work-basket three o'clock suit you! That will give us & in hand. long jaunt before dinner. The moon will be The dull room was brighter instantly, ani full to-morrow evening. Was there ever any every face took on a smile; every voice a thing more opportune! Shall you be too blither cadence. tired to take a second jaunt after nightfall?" "Our conversation has been a succession of " It is hard to get too much of so good a tirades against the weather,"answered Alice. 29 30 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. 17 “ Jeannie and Rosie are especially disconso- late." “And very reasonably," said the lady, before the girls could put in a blushing dis- claimer. “I should resent the slight put upon my friends, Messrs. Hornby and Blake, if their fair enslavers did not refuse to be entirely re- conciled to the impending affliction. I have not meant to leave you to your woe and the discussion of that very unpropitious subject, the weather; but certain domestic duties have detained me below stairs." “My dear Mrs. Granger! as if we would interfere in the least with your plans!” ejacu- lated Jeanuie. * We should not be easy a moment if we thought that our presence in the house made the slightest difference in your arrange- ments !" chimed in Rosie. “We wish you to act just as if we were not here!” followed Alice. And not to be behindhand in the protesta- tions that were to set her hospitable mind at ease, I had my say. “You hare the en- viable faculty of making your visitors feel so much at home, that you may safely leave them to entertain themselves''-I checked myself in mid-career, at seeing the object of my panegyric raise her hands and eyes in in ploring deprecation. " "Take any forın but that!'”she exclaimed, theatrically. “Tell me that my attentions have been officious and a bore; that I have been openly rude in my speech and behavior -anything and everything rather than that I have made you entirely at home-have 'acted just as if you were not here!' My dear girls, when people declare they wish to be treated unceremoniously, 'in all respects as one of the family,' they are as far as possible from meaning what they say. Nothing would astonish and displease them more than to be taken at their word." “But we are really sincere in wishing that our visit to you may not be the occasion of discomfort or inconvenience to any of your household," replied Rosie, earnestly. “I believe you, dear, and I am equally sin- cere in the declaration that I have enjoyed every minute of your stay. I only regret that imperative engagements, the discharge of which affects your comfort as it does mine, sometimes oblige me to deprive myself of the pleasure of your society for hours together," rejoined the lady, affectionately. “I grant you that the highest achievement of hospi- tality is to provide so ingeniously for the en- tertainment of one's friends, that they shall not observe the working of the machinery which brings to them a succession of congenial occupations and agreeable pastimes. But it is not in human nature to prefer neglect to attention ; indifference to kindly regard.” “Of course not!" assented Alice, a little perplexedly. “But then, you see, Mrs. Gran- ger, people-civilized people, I mean-are seldom in danger of slighting invited guests. I cannot now recall an instance in which I, as a visitor, did not receive my full proportion of respect and notice. I know that I have, more than once, been so oppressed by the well- meant, but awkward attempts of my hosts to make me enjoy myself, that I have curtailed my sojourn in the families where I seemed to throw everything out of the accustomed groove of every-day life.” " Rather this extreme than the other!" said Mrs. Granger. “Officious attentions may bore you, but, in your heart, you do justice to the intention that prompts these; carry away with you no unkind thoughts of those whose man- ner, and not whose motive, was offensive, There is a great difference between being al- lowed to follow the bent of one's own tastes and whims, and in being overlooked utterly. I recollect a passage in my own experience''- “Oh, a story !" cried Jeannie, deliglitedly. “Please wait until I get my work. The sight of eight other pairs of busy hands makes me fidgety while mine are idle. I shall be back before you can count twenty!" Away she tripped up stairs, returning in two minutes with a little papier maché “Ladies' Companion," furnished with a dainty set of implements of feminine industry. Settling herself at one corner of the hearth, in a cosey- looking easy chair, she fitted on her mite of a gold thimble; produced a strip of linen lawn, ready for hemming, and pronounced herseli "ready to be amused or edified.” “ And please, dear Mrs. Granger, amplify and illustrate, ad libitum, as you go on!" with a piteous glance at the misty window panes, and another at the clock upon the mantle. "I do so dread a long, rainy morning!” T'he indulgent hostess smiled at the petted child, and commenced :- “I was younger than you, Jeannie-just eighteen, in fact—when an old school-fellow of my mother's, a Mrs. Kingsley, the wife of *** " ENTIRELY AT HOME.71 31 " or & rich city merchant, chanced to stop over night at the principal hotel in the country town, which was my home. Brighton is a picturesque place, situated just back of the Hudson, and within easy walking distance of a fine range of mountains. At the time of which I speak it was a less fashionable resort for passing tourists and summer boarders than it has since become; but it was a lively, plea- sant village, nevertheless, and had the air of being awake to a sense of its own impor- tance. The streets were wide and clean, shaded by a double row of noble trees; the buildings neat and not devoid of style; the gardens numerous and tasteful. We boasted of three hotels; a public hall, dignified, in the lecture season, by the name of lyceum; a circulating library and a park, and we were wont to plume ourselves upon the excellent tone of our best society, as upon the natural beauties of the location. Altogether, Brighton was very far from being out of the world, behind the age, and when my mother, having heard, accidentally, that her former friend was in town, called to see her, and would not be gainsaid in her design of carrying her off to her own dwelling, and making her the guest of herself and family for the period she proposed to spend in the neighborhood, her gratification at accomplishing her object was not marred by misgivings lest she should not be able to accommodate the city lady as her desires and habits might demand. “We kept but two servants--a man to till the garden and take care of the cows and horses, and a woman to cook, wash, and iron. The lighter work of the chambers and draw- ing-room was performed by the quick, willing hands of my sister and myself, our mother acting as directress and general supervisor. But Mrs. Kingsley never slept in purer linen sheets, or upon a more elastic mattress than was prepared for her in our spare chamber. The carpet was a white ground, with crimson vine leaves and ferns, russet, green, and golden, dropped upon it here and there; the furniture was of solid mahogany, well-chosen and carefully preserved; there was a tempt- ing lounge, covered with a delicate pattern of chintz that suited the carpet; muslin drape- ries above the toilet-glass, tied back with pink ribbon, as were the full white curtains of the windows, these latter framing pictures which could not be purchased for a town residence by a mint of money. Our parlors were cheer- ful, airy, and even elegant. Neither books, music, nor pictures were wanting to give them at once a refined, yet home-like expression. Our table was bountifully spread with rural luxuries-cream, fruit, fresh vegetables, poul- try, and eggs—that elicited the warmest com- mendations from the merchant's wife. . "'I am persuaded that the tone of my health and spirits would be speedily restored if I were to pass a few weeks in this delight- ful region!' she said, the morning after her arrival. “My mother's response was prompt and cordial. Nothing could gratify her more than to have her school-fellow remain with her so long as she should find it convenient and plea- sant to do so. The rest of the household en. forced the invitation by eager entreaties for a longer visit from the fascinating guest. She was a handsome woman; dressed beautifully, and was most engaging in language and de- portment. I fell madly in love with her during the first hour of our intercourse-a sentiment that strengthened daily during the three weeks of her stay. For stay she did, suc- cumbing sweetly and gracefully to our solici- tations, and declaring, as she sat down to write to her husband of her changed purpose, that she was overpowered less by our too complimentary warmth of invitation than by her own inclination, which would not let her leave this earthly Eden until she should be torn from it by dire necessity. “With equal sweetness and urbanity she gave herself up to be petted and waited upon by the entire family. My father was a lawyer in a large practice, a man of considerable note in his town and county. Our associates in- cluded most of the best families in Brighton and the surrounding country; many of them being people of means, education, and breed- ing. It was a social neighborhood, and Mrs. Kingsley was soon the centre of attraction for the choicest elements of our circle. Within a fortnight two regular parties were given in her honor, not to mention picnics, rides, and sails innumerable. She was unfeignedly pleased by the sensation she had created in our little world; the genuine admiration, un- equivocal as it was respectful, that greeted her wherever she went. Never was celebrity more affable; inore graciously willing to be lionized; inore profuse of thanks for the enchanting holiday, the season of delicious refreshment we had given her world-weary 6 32 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. spirit.' Like painted, padded, panting Mrs. Skewton in ‘Dombey and Son,' she mourned that in society--i. e., New York upper-ten- dom-'we are so very artificial.' When the day of parting came, there were real tears in her eyes, and her voice was plaintively shaken as she begged our mother to grant her 'an early opportunity of reciprocating, to the best of her poor ability, the kindness she had re- ceived in our home.' " And as for you, Carrie, and you, Louise' -passing an arm around each of us, as we pressed closely up to her for a last kiss- mainma has promised faithfully that you are to spend the whole of next winter with me.' "No!' corrected our mother, smiling, 'I only said that they might perhaps pay you a short visit.' "**As if three months were not too short a visit to suit my wishes!' replied the charmer, touching my forehead with her lips. Never mind, Carrie, love. Do you come, and then we will settle about the length of your stay. Possession is nine points of the law. We will give our good mamma a practical illustration of the force of this adage.' "We heard from her once after she reached the city. The letter was read in family con- clave, and afterwards perused by each one of us separately. It was honey sweet, and smoother than oil to our mental palates. Her husband and her three daughters, Ida, Eva, and Linda, united with her in affectionate gratitude for the goodness shown her in her • Brighton home.' Only we had spoiled her. She had found more fault with city life, city houses, and city bills of fare since her return, than she had done during the whole of her previous residence in New York. “Mr. Kingsley protests that he will be driven to adopt one of two courses-either to forbid my future visits to Brighton, or to look out for a country-louse in your vicinity, where we may spend our summers. If you hear of one which you think will suit us—one near your own, of course- 'se-please let me know. As for the other alternative, it is not to be thought of for an instant. The simple idea is heart- rending !' “Rather strongly expressed !' ventured my father, in reviewing this passage. "Eliza was always enthusiastic,' returned my inother, warmly. “But it is because her affections are strong. She is perfectly sincere in all she says.' “My father was distinguished for discre- tion, and he did not controvert this declara- tion. It would have served no other purpose than to show him in what an ignominious minority he would be set who should, in the hearing of the rest of our household, question Mrs. Kingsley's claim to infallibility. “I do not feel self-contempt, but I do pity the unsophisticated girl, unversed in the creed and cant of society, and strong in her faith in human kind, when I remember how the promised visit to the city loomed up before my imagination, all through the autumn and early winter, filling the horizon with misty glories ; shifting air-castles of splendor, all having this one sure foundation of hope and happiness—I should once again see and be under the same roof with my beloved Mrs. Kingsley. Louise was more quiet by nature, less demonstrative of feeling than I; but she looked forward to the promised pleasure as a rare treat; prepared for it as diligently as did I. We had fallen to work, immediately after Mrs. Kingsley's departure, upon the outfit we deemed indispensable for the im- portant occasion of a season in the metropolis. People did not call under.clothing lingerie then. Chemises, and skirts, and corsets, re- ceived their homely, proper names, although I did once hear an ultra-fastidious lady in- clude the whole tribe of these useful articles under the term, 'internal garments.' Louise and I stitched and felled, whipped ruffles, did wonderful patterns in open work, scalloped, and hem-stitched, and herring-boned, and braided, with gay industry, weaving into every fabric, whether of muslin, linen, silk, or worsted, delightsome pictures of merry scenes and heart greetings which the winter had in store for us. • Early in December we prevailed upon man ma to write to Mrs. Kingsley, inquiring whether it would be convenient for her to receive us on the 15th of that month. The answer was highly favorable. She had almost worn her brains out with conjectures as to the cause of the delay of the tidings contained in her dear friend's letter, which had been looked for with loving impatience by every member of her family. Her two favorites should be welcomed with open arms by them all. Her daughters counted the days that must yet elapse before they could behold the sisters ENTIRELY AT HOME.17 33 " whom mamma was ever holding up to them and their young acquaintances as shining ex- emplars for their imitation. “'I am sorry she has given them such a highly-colored portrait of us,' said Louise, naively, as we packed our neat wardrobe into the one trunk which, it had been decided, would serve for us both; 'I am afraid they will be disappointed.' “This fear, or the natural nervousness attendant upon the entrance upon untried scenes and the introduction to new acquaint- ances weighed apon our spirits, as the boat neared the New York wharf on the bleak evening of a mid-December day. Our father had put us on board himself, and Mrs. Kings- ley had promised to meet us, with her car- riage, at the landing. The trip had been per- formed in safety and comfort. We had en- countered several agreeable acquaintances, and had a lively chat with them about the saloon stove, it being too cold to stay on deck. "We shall not get in until after dark. The floating ice in the river has impeded our progress very sensibly,' remarked Mr. Charlie, a young gentleman from New York, whom I had met twice before to-day at the house of a friend of mine and a relative of his, in Brighton. •Your friends are to meet you at the pier, did you say, Miss Eustace ?' ""Oh, yes!' I replied, with alacrity, while a qualm of homesickness agitated my vitals, as I surveyed the crowd on shore, through the window nearest me; the dark, restless mass, imperfectly lighted by the wharf lamps; heard the tumult of calls, shouts, and oaths, that followed the thump of the steamboat against the pier and the lowering of the gangway. "Then if I may advise you-you had better remain in the saloon until the way is clearer. Whoever comes for you will cer- tainly seek you here. You are to spend some time in the city, I believe ?' “I said 'yes,' absently enough, I dare say, and with apparent indifference, for I was watching the door, in ill-concealed anxiety, for a glimpse of Mrs. Kingsley's face or figure. "Can I do anything for you ?? inquired the gentleman, more formally than he had before spoken. "Nothing, thank you!' I rejoined, still abstractedly, and bowed, without looking at him, as he bade us 'Good-evening.' "Carrie !' said Louise, when he was out VOL. LXXIV.-3 of hearing, 'I think Mr. Charlie was about to ask if he might call to see you while we are in town. Why did you answer him so coldly? "I did not mean to be cold. I hardly heard what he said, my thoughts were so taken up with other things,' was my response. I added, after a moment's thought, “Yet it may be as well that I did not encourage him to make the request. While we are with Mrs. Kingsley, it is but proper that she should choose our associates. I like Mr. Charlie very much, but she might think it strange if he were to call without an invitation from her. We do not even know that they move in the same circle.' “In the slight glow of vanity excited by the consciousness that I had defined a point of etiquette to my satisfaction and my sister's edification, I forgot my uneasiness, until it was revived in full force by Louise. “Do you see that we are the only persons left in the saloon ?? she said, perturbedly. 'I wish Mrs. Kingsley would come !' Shall I call a carriage for you, young ladies ?? asked the mulatto stewardess, draw- ing near. 66. No, thank you! I was still spokeswo- man, although my tone was less confident than when I had said similar words to Mr. Charlie. We expect a friend to meet us.' "It's high time he came !' said the wo- man, shortly. The boat is an hour late to-night.' ""She may have come and gone away again,' I suggested, alarmed. “Nobody but a fool would do that, when anybody on the pier could tell him that the Mesopotamia wasn't in,' she rejoined, in con- tempt. “The hackman had sense enough to wait, anyhow. It's none of my business, but if I was you, I'd call a carriage and go, on my own hook.' “Thereupon the coffee-colored dame, with an air of insolent assurance, went the round of the saloon and extinguished the lights, leaving but one feeble lamp above our heads to make gloom and emptiness forlornly visible. “At this juncture a tall form appeared in the doorway and made his way toward us. It was Mr. Charlie. "'I am afraid there has been some misap- prehension on the part of your friends as to the time of your arrival,' he said. • There is not a private carriage left upon the pier, and the hacks have all gone except one which 6 6 34 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Will you I have retained for my own use. allow me the privilege of setting you down at Mr. Kingsley's door?' “You, who are as familiar with the topo- graphy of the great city as I was then with the streets of my native Brighton, may smile when I speak of the inexpressible relief which this proposition brought to our sinking spirits. My heart bounded from the removal of a mighty load, as the kind accents saluted my ears, and I took his proffered arm, as one might grasp at a friend's hand extended to pluck him from a treacherous quicksand. But for him, the overwhelming horror of loneliness would have swallowed up the last remnant of our courage. When we were safely ensconced in the carriage, with our luggage strapped on behind, I tried to thank him for his timely interposition. "I cannot account for Mrs. Kingsley's non-appearance,' I subjoined. I fear that she or some member of the family is ill.' "I hope not. These contretemps on ac- count of a failure to understand the exact date of a visitor's intended arrival, or the depôt at which he is to stop, are of frequent occurrence. They are sometimes embarrass- ing-often amusing.' “Pursuing the last idea, he went on to tell us of an odd adventure that had once befallen himself--something about his alighting from a stage-coach in the middle of a western prairie. “We listened, or seemed to listen, and tried to laugh, but we were both disheartened and full of vague apprehensions of further mishaps. My fancy ran wild upon sick-beds, and fatal accidents, and a house of mourning, where our coming would be miserably inop- portune. I had settled it in my own mind that Mrs. Kingsley must herself be the patient whose danger had driven every other thought from the minds of her devoted children and distracted spouse, when the carriage drew up before a large house, the second story of which was brilliantly lighted, while the lower was dark, except for the semi-circular window over the hall door. Mr. Charlie rang the bell ; learned from the servant who answered it that his mistress was at home; assisted us to alight, while the driver removed our lug- gage; escorted us into the hall; handed us over to the care of the footman, and bade us Good-night.' " The loneliness overtook us anew, when the door shut him out, and the servant led the way into a large, dark parlor. "What name shall I take up to Mrs. Kingsley ? he asked, impertinently careless, turning his back upon us as he spoke, under pretext of screwing up the gas of a bracket- burner-a tongue of flame that revealed the pair of shrinking girls seated close together upon a sofa. "The Misses Eustace, from Brighton !' I answered, summoning up a show of dignified self-possession. “Mrs. Kingsley expects us. Is she well ? “'I believe so, Miss.' “He swaggered from the room, and there ensued a drear and doleful silence. I thought of home; of my parents and brothers, collected in the cheerful sitting-room and talking of us -poor, hungry, belated wanderers! and but for the fear of being surprised by some mem- ber of the Kingsley establishment, I should have laid my head upon Louise's shoulder and cried heartily. Neither of us spoke. Each divined the other's thoughts from her own state of wretched depression, and words would only augment this. The parlors were superbly furnished, according to our ideas, and very lofty and spacious; but this gran- deur aggravated our strange, desolate feeling. We seemed to have no part or lot in this place, where, for a weary half hour, we waited vainly for some token of welcome, some recognition of our existence. We could hear, all the while, the patter of footsteps and buzz of gay voices overhead, and, at last, a door opened and shut; silken skirts rustled down the stairs, and Mrs. Kingsley entered, to us, mag- nificently attired in full evening costume; feathers in her hair and jewels upon her neck and arms. She enfolded us in a rapturous embrace, and began a diffuse explanation of her unreadiness to receive us. "• I am distressed beyond measure at my apparent negligence, but I certainly thought that your dear mamma said you would maky us happy on the 16th.' “Now my mother had written expressly- "Thursday the 15th,' and I stated this fact, tremulously, for I was faint with hunger and the reaction after protracted suspense. Mrs. Kingsley looked concerned. "Are you very sure, my love? My eyes must then have deceived me grossly! I am assuredly growing old. But, never mind ! You are here at last, and that is happiness 6 “ENTIRELY AT HOME." 35 enough for me. I am sorry that we have an engagement out this evening. I was in the midst of my toilet when your names were brought up, and the girls being likewise en dishabille, none of us could come down imme- diately. They are not presentable yet-the vain minxes. The ball is to be a grand affair, - and they must pay unusual attention to their appearance. It is a severe trial to them not to be able to see you at once. They are actu- ally dying with impatience to meet you. You will excuse our running away from you. It is quite as well, I dare say, that we should leave you, for if we were at home, we might be so selfish as to keep you up to talk over charming Brighton and the more charming Brightonites. Whereas, if we are not here, you can get a good night's rest and be fresh for my catechism in the morning.' “ A cross-looking chambermaid showed her- self at the door, and looked at her mistress. " • Ah! here is Mary, to show you to your room. Not expecting you until to-morrow, we put off arranging your chamber until after the party. Will you excuse me from mounting these tiresome stairs again? They weary my poor back sadly, and I must keep myself fresh for the party. Mary will bring you a cup of tea without delay. I won't trouble you to come down for it. I know you are terribly fatigued—such novices as you are in travel- ling. Ask for whatever you want, my dar- lings. Remember that you are now a part of my family. We use no ceremony in this house with those whom we love. We shall make you entirely at home-treat you pre- cisely as if you belonged, in truth, to our home-band. Good-night, my sweet children! Pleasant dreams and refreshing slumbers to you! Don't be in baste to rise in the morn- ing. We shall all be lazy after our dissipa- tion.' “She attended us to the parlor door ; in- dulged us with another embrace and two kisses apiece, and dismissed us as royalty might a couple of fawning courtiers. This was not my mental comparison, as I climbed the two flights of steps that lay between us and our sleeping-room. My faith in her was stanch. I said to myself that she was cer- tainly delighted to see us; that she was per- fectly excusable in fulfilling her engagement, and how unlucky it was that she had not read aright the date set down so distinctly in my mother's letter, and that my flagging spirits would revive after I had drunk the promised cup of tea. Should this fail to restore their tone, a night's rest and the sight of friendly faces, the sound of affectionate welcomes on the mor- row would set me quite right. Our chamber was a third-story back,' not large, but neatly furnished with a double bed, a bureaa, a wash-stand, two chairs, and a small table. These were made of maple, and the chairs were cane-bottomed. The room was entirely decent, but it was inferior in dimensions and appointments to our best chamber at home, and in its lack of everything like ornament, the bare cleanliness of walls, fire-place, mantel, and table, so strongly suggestive of hotel life ; came so far short of the accommo- dations which my sanguine imagination had pictured as the destined dormitory of Mrs. Kingsley's favorites, that I, with difficulty, repressed my tears until the servant left us alone. Then I threw myself upon the bed, and gave way to the hardly-repressed flood. Louise tried to comfort me, putting her arm about me and drawing me to her bosom. “'I, too, wish we had never left home!' she sighed, when my sobs subsided. “Every- thing is so different here.' “The implied censure of Mrs. Kingsley aroused my loyal spirit. " "I am only tired and foolish!' I said, rais- ing myself and untying my hat. “I am very glad we can have this evening to ourselves. I should be miserable company down stairs. I need a good bath and a cup of strong, hot tea. My head aches dreadfully. How beau- tiful Mrs. Kingsley looked, and how glad she was to see us. It seems that Mr. Charlie was correct about her mistake as to the time of our arrival.' “Thus rattling on, I removed my travelling dress, shook it to dislodge the dust, and put it on again when I had washed and combed my hair. I longed to replace it by a loose double wrapper, but our trunk had not been brought up. Then we sat down in the stiff, cane-bot- tomed chairs, and waited for our tea. Excite- ment and inanition had brought on one of the violent headaches to which I have always been subject, and the deprivation of the cheer- ing tonic, which was, at home, my panacea for these attacks, was an absolute affliction. Another half hour of expectation was ended by Mary's second appearance. She brought two cups of tea-weak and chilly, having been made with unboiled water-and four 36 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. answer. slices of smoked toast, with a thin scrape of butter in the middle of each. Louise and I avoided each other's eyes as we silently ate and drank of this delectable repast. Mary had put it upon the table and retired sullenly. It was evident that her services, poor as they were, were grudgingly paid. I suppose she resented our arrival at so inopportune an hour as a direct injury to herself. Like other domestics, she thought a great deal of her evenings,' and we had taken the marrow and pith out of this one by setting her to work upon our room and our supper. ""There!' said Louise, as we set our chairs back from the stand. “We forgot to ask that girl to have our trunk brought up.' "Oh! it will be along presently,'I rejoined, with seeming confidence. “Mrs. Kingsley will espy it as she goes out, if she has overlooked it before.' “A third season of waiting ensued. At first we tried to talk, but the pitiful attempt soon died away in rueful taciturnity. We heard the carriage drive up to the house; the bustle and merry tones upon the staircase as mother and daughters passed down; the clang of the front door; the receding roll of wheels, and all was still throughout the mansion. An hour went by, and still no trunk. 666 Isn't there a bell in this room?' I won- dered, finally. 'Iam nearly dead with fatigue, and this racking pain in my head is intoler- able. Then, my feet are like lumps of ice. I must go to bed!' "A strict search failed to reveal any trace of either bell-knob or cord. Mustering up all my courage, I went out into the hall, leaned over the balustrade and called—'Mary!' The echoes died away in mocking repetition of my quavering accents, then the death-like quiet resumed its reign. Ten-fifteen minutes elapsed, and I returned to Louise-this time desperate, for the hands of my watch showed that it was eleven o'clock. "• Let us go down to the parlor and try the bell there! I know there is one in the front parlor. I noticed it while we were waiting for Mrs. Kingsley.' “ The hall lamp was burning and we de- scended—not without trepidation as we pon- dered upon the liberty we were taking. The parlor bell was easily found, and was in capital order, for although I gave a modest little pull, it tinkled and jipgled sharply upon our ears through the flooring that separated us from the basement. But there was no The servants had either followed their mis- tress? example, and gone out, or had retired for the night. Convinced that no help was to be expected from this quarter, we held a brief council over our unfortunate trunk, standing, with such an air of helpless weight, in the very middle of the hall. Mrs. Kings- ley's embroidered founces must have brushed it in passing. Louise was for unlocking it and taking thence such articles as we needed that night. But this would be a work of time, since morning dresses and their adjuncts were also to be thought of, and we ran the risk of being interrupted by the servants. "• Then, again,' I objected, “Mrs. Kingsley will feel very badly if she sees it here when she comes home. It is not kind to visit her servants' shortcomings upon her head. I have no doubt that she gave orders about it. I have always heard that town servants could not be depended upon when their employers' backs were turned. Couldu't we carry it up ourselves?' “I have said that I was desperate, and Louise, catching the infection, seized one handle as I grasped the other. We staggered up to the first landing, with the heavy, troublesome thing between us; stopped to breathe and collect our strength, and com- pleted the ascent without other damage than aching arms, the loss of wind, and, on my part, redoubled agony in my head. “We slept heavily, and, as we believed, late into the morning. I was awakened by Louise tugging at my arm and saying, in a frightened whisper, Carrie, do you know that it is eight o'clock ?' The weather was piercing cold, but we did not care for that except that it numbed our fingers and re- tarded the work of dressing. With all the haste we could make, it was half past eight when we emerged from our chamber and made our way to the lower part of the house. Ignorant of the locality of the breakfast-room, we decided to take up our position in the par- lor, leaving the door open that we might be seen by any passer-by, and conducted to the desired haven. It did not occur to us that the family were not already collected about the breakfast-table. We supposed that Mrs. Kingsley had, out of pity for our exhausted condition, purposely refrained from summon- ing us. The parlors were dark as Egypt when we entered, but Mary soon came in, nearly “ENTIRELY AT HOME.” 37 stumbling over us in the obscurity, and un- closed the shutters. Her aspect was not less forbidding than it had been over night, but I dared ask her whether they were waiting breakfast for us. " + "Taint ready yet!' was her response, and, without further notice of our presence, she proceeded to raise the windows and sweep the carpet. “We are in your way,' I remarked, alike chilled and choked. What is the breakfast hour? We will go back to our room until then.' “There's no telling when they will be down this morning. You ’ll hear the bell.' “ Back to the third story we went-where, to keep from freezing, we bundled ourselves in our thickest shawls, and, curling our feet under us, in school-girl fashion, huddled to- gether upon the bed. * "Ten o'clock!' I sighed, looking at my watch, as the longed-for bell was heard. I believe I have been dozing!' "Poor Louise was livid, and I red with cold and starvation, when we crept from stair to stair with our uncertain feet, and paused in the wide entry to question one another and ourselves as to the probable direction of the dining-room. Guided by the instinct of fam- ished animals, we chose the right door, and presented ourselves in a pleasant room, light and warm, where sat an elderly gentleman swallowing his coffee scalding hot, and bolt- ing his steak in prodigious mouthfuls, his eyes all the time being fixed upon the news- paper laid on the table before him. Our second step into the apartment called forth a growl from him, but he did not turn his head in our direction. “ Pretty time of day, this, for breakfast, when a man has a day's work ahead of him! Fashion and folly! pride and vanity! You women are enough to sicken any man alive!' ""It's the young ladies that came last night, sir!' said the servant in waiting. “ The ogre glanced over his shoulder, and grunted, instead of growled, accompanying this amiable salutation by a sidelong nod, ineant for a bow. " • Thought 'twas Mrs. Kingsley! How do you do? Came last night, hey! Mrs. Kings- ley said something about expecting somebody. Better take seats at the table. Mrs. Kingsley will be in presently, I suppose. Make your- selves at home!' "The gulping and bolting proceeded more vigorously than before, and the newspaper monopolized his organs of vision. Could this beefy, bald-headed animal, who looked like a beer-bibbing Dutchman; ate like a savage and granted like a pig, be the husband of our lovely hostess? In spite of the array of circumstantial evidence that pointed to this conclusion, I refused to credit the degrading supposition until doubt was dispelled by the entrance of the fascinating dame herself. Her morning negligée was as perfect, in its way, as had been her grande toilette. Her blonde hair was shaded, not covered, by a tiny lace cap; her eyes were sparkling; her smile ravishing. "Ah! my early birds !' she exclaimed, gayly, tapping our cheeks, as she walked around to her end of the table. “Are you terribly shocked at our daughty city hours ? But we are not always so lazy as we are to- day. We did not get home until three. You spent the evening at your club rooms, I sup- pose, my dear?' to Mynheer. “He nodded, and helped himself to another piece of steak. " "Take example by me, my pets,' pursued his wife, playfully oracular. Some ladies are very jealous of their husbands' clubs. I, on the other hand, willingly allow my lord to find comfort and pleasure in his own way, and he grants me the same privilege.' “She poured out a cup of coffee for us; the waiter supplied us with rolls, butter, and eggs, and, for awhile, we were too much engrossed in satisfying the wants of craving Nature to interrupt Mrs. Kingsley's flow of talk. It ran chiefly upon the brilliant affair of the previous night, and was addressed exclusively to us, her 'lord' deigning neither to notice us nor reply to her remarks. His meal despatched, he arose, grunted again, and betook himself to his place of business. Mrs. Kingsley did not introduce us to him. I thought then that she imagined some other member of the family had performed this duty. I suppose now that she never troubled herself to think at all upon so insignificant a matter. The daughters sailed in, by and by. Ida was tall and queenly; Eva plump and languishing; Linda small and pert. All were stylish in dress and general appearance, with tolerably regular features, and each considered herself a beauty. They greeted us very affably, were delighted to see us,' and 'hoped we had rested well.' Then they began to discuss the ball, volubly and at length, gossip that, however interest- 38 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ing it might be to them, was much of it unin- telligible, and all of it very stupid to our benighted minds. Not a look or sentence invited us to join in the conversation, and we sat in constr ed silence that made us look like awkward country-girls, while they dan- dled over their chocolate and French rolls, and chatted of this one's dress and that one's diamonds; of beaus, and flirtations, and sup- per, never observing that we had long since finished our meal, and were sitting idly by, awaiting the signal for rising. When they at last condescended to move, Mrs. Kingsley ac- costed us. "Make yourselves entirely at home, my precious girls. Go and come as you please. The whole house is open to you. We do not bore our guests by following them up and down, and insisting that they shall be amused by what amuses us. Employ yourselves as you like best. Be contented and happy. That is all I ask. I suppose you will be writ- ing home to that paragon of a mamma some time to-day. Tell her that I am in ecstasies at having you here, and that I shall treat you just as I do iny own daughters. We lunch at twelve, generally, but to-day we shall omit this meal in consequence of our late breakfast. Dinner at four. Ida! I wish you to go out with me this forenoon to make some calls. Carrie and Louise would not care to accompany us to see strangers—but we will not make visitors of them. They are entirely at home.' "Ida tarried in the breakfast room to con- sult her mother about the list of calls. The other sisters had disappeared, and, under the impression that we were intruding upon a confidential talk, Louise and I again took up our line of march. We peeped into the par- lor in the hope of finding there an asylum. The absurd fashion of darkening drawing- rooms to Cimmerian gloom was then at its height, and intensest midnight reigned in Mrs. Kingsley's state apartments. To admit a ray of light was an act of temerity beyond our daring, so we turned us about and sought the cheerless upper chamber, the one spot in all the house where we appeared to have the ghost of a claim to be. More to divert our minds from dwelling upon our growing dis- appointment and the queer desolation of our situation than to make the room tidy, we made up the bed, dusted and rearranged the furniture, and set about unpacking our trunk. "I wish we were packing it instead !' sighed Louise. ""Fie!' said I, briskly. "We shall get along nicely when we are better acquainted. You see how kindly they all behave to us.' "I should be less homesick if I were not so cold !' she shivered, disconsolately. "Put on your furs over your shawl!' I advised. “Thus equipped, we took out, one by one, the articles we had bestowed within the hand- some new trunk with such bounding hearts and pleasant predictions of the happy days to come. There was a clothes-closet in the room, but half of the pegs were filled with clothing- cast-off dresses, pantaloons, and vests. We could only crowd our garments in by hanging several upon the same peg. It was a trifling discomfort, but it augmented our appreciation of the imperfect preparations made for our reception. Still, not a syllable escaped us depreciatory of our entertainers. Our mother had inculcated upon us, as an essential rule of good breeding, the habit of speaking re- spectfully and gratefully of those whose hos- pitality we had enjoyed; taught us that host and hostess were sacred from vensure while we sat at their table and slept under their roof-tree, I remarked upon Ida's stately carriage and profusion of dark hair; upon Eva's beautiful complexion, and large, soft eyes; upon Linda's sprightliness and fine teeth, and Louise assented cordially to my praises of each and all of them. We did not even animadvert upon Mr. Kingsley's sensual physiognomy and churlish behavior." 6. That was what I call putting too fine a point upon it!" interrupted Jeannie Hughes. “I should have taken a deal of comfort in abusing him as a horrid old brute, and the rest of the family as heartless, cruel, and hateful, generally. But go on! I hope you left the house by the next up boat." “Not a bit of it, my dear. We were young and unsophisticated, and mistook the stone plum for the real one. Most of us have cracked our teeth and wounded our nerves upon some such showy presentment of de- sired fruit before we have learned worldly wisdom. We wrote a joint letter home, an- nouncing our safe arrival and good health, speaking of Mrs. Kingsley's kindness, and the young ladies' pleasant manners, but we did not apologize for the uneven penman- ship, by mentioning that we were sitting in A MOTHER'S LOVE.--POETRY 39 a fireless room, when the thermometer was down to zero. "Only twelve o'clock !' said Louise, when this was done. "Four hours to dinner! Where do you suppose the sitting-room is ? We surely ought not to exclude ourselves in this way from the family. Perhaps they are waiting for us to show ourselves.' " At any rate, we can go on another roy- age of discovery,' I replied, with a miserable attempt at jocularity. “We took up our work-baskets, and again committed ourselves to the uncertainties of the lower thoroughfare—the halls and stairs. Success crowned our journeyings this time. The door of a room opposite the front parlor stood ajar, and the murmur of gay voices issued therefrom. I halted outside, and tap- ped timidly. (Conclusion next month.) so morally beautiful: a self-fed, self-sustain- ing love, which can traverse wide deserts, and, like the camel, keep itself alive upon its little hoards of remembered joy, when all other love fails--the one human love that spends itself wholly upon its objects, and the roots of which even ingratitude cannot entirely kill. But, when returned, as in some measure it mostly will be, to what strength and beauty of self-sacrifice will it not grow 1-yet, under any circumstances, chiefly a sorrow-bearing love, of which the joys are cares, the duties are inflictions of pain upon itself, the pride is nourished to be bestowed elsewhere, and the fondest gain is the sorest loss. About every true mother there is the sanctity of martyr- dom-and when she is no more in the body, her children see her with the ring of light around her head. EVENING. BY ALICE. A MOTHER'S LOVE. HAPPILY, a mother's love is something upon which the great majority of mankind can look back-reverently and fondly look back-for an objective representation of its main char- acteristics. Oh, the unselfishness of it! How, months before it can be returned by anything beyond a momentary dance of light in her child's eyes, or a curvature of its tooth- less mouth into a smile, or a crow, or a fling of the limbs, expressive of enjoyment, it pours itself out in seemingly wasteful superabun- dance, intent on giving rather than receiving, rejoicing, to minister rather than be min- istered to, accepting without a murmer days of care sometimes flecked with pain, and nights of broken rest, and rendering without stint unnumbered services which to others would be self-denial, but the irksomeness of which her ever-gushing affection, without a moment's pause of self-consciousness, cleauses away, and renders invisible! And then the patience and long-suffering of it—the faults it will cover over with its ever-ready mantle, the negligences it will drop tears over in secret and openly forgive, the affronts it will survive, the disappointments it will endure and con- ceal, the ingenuity it will display in devising plausible excuses and even satisfying reasons for manifest wrongs, and the eagerness with which it will take upon itself, if possible, the consequences of transgression. There is noth- ing quite like it in this world of ours-nothing 'Tis evening, and our parlor looks cozy, warm, and bright; Some love the day, but give to me the prelude hours of night; The sleepy cat and watchful dog on hearth-rug lazy lay, And I am happy in my heart whate'er the world may say. Beside my desk a little one is looking wondrous wise- She's gazing at the picture where Christ ascends the skies; Her tiny fingers gently hunt the pictures in “the Book," And I know her brain is busy by her wondrous happy look. And on the hearth-rag seated is a curly-headed boy; O mischief loving boyhood! to find in everything a toy: His dimpled hands together tie the tail of dog and cat, And now his head is lost in grandpa's spacious hat. Bat another form-though last she comes is dearer far to me; They say that time decays, but in her fresh youth I see A thoughtful brown-haired woman--my joy, my light, my life; Oh, 'tis pardoned pride in her I feel, “my beautiful, my wife!" Bat soon these evening hours shall pass with time away, And we shall live together in hours of endless day; We're not far up the hill now, the summer months still shine, And we still pluck blushing roses, so seeming is the clime. But autama must o'ertake us--the flowers all be dead, And those will have to lead us whom long ago we led; But when winter's hoary whiteness hath killed the sum. mer flowers, We will not cease to think upon these happy evening hours. NEW YEAR'S AT LEIGH HOUSE, BY S. ANNIE PROST. ear. It was New Year's day, and Mr. James Leigh had consented to his house being made a rendezvous for all his pretty daughter's friends, on that evening. There had been no morning receptions, but invitations were out for a large social meeting in the evening, and more than one pretty face had its blushes deepened by the thought of some special partner with whom to dance at Anna Leigh's New Year's party. It had been a custom of Mr. Leigh's sister for many years to have this annual gathering, and pretty motherless Anna had been allowed to come down in her simple white dress and partake of the fes- tivities, although not "out;" but this year the young girl was to take her place as the hostess, having been regularly introduced into society a few months previously. The little flutter of expectation that girls, heart-whole and free, exper nce before a party, had given place with Anna to the deep calm happiness of loving where she had won the pure devotion of a noble upright heart in return. From a child, Harold Leslie had been her favorite companion and friend, and when he came to her to plead for the sweetest title man wins from woman, she put no mask over face or heart, but let him read the love in her voice and eyes. It was a match that suited all; Mr. Leslie was wealthy, well born, and gentlemanly; sweet Anna Leigh was the only child of a millionnaire, a lady in position, edu- cation, and birth. So the course of true love ran very smooth, and, as Anna pinned to her dress the sprig of myrtle Harry had placed in the bouquet sent that morning, she had no thought of any jar in the smooth current of her happy life. Before another New Year dawned she hoped to be a happy beloved wife, dispensing the hospitalities of her hus- band's house. The large parlors were filled at an early hour by the invited guests, and as Mrs. Mor- ton and Anna greeted one after another of their friends, the elder lady had scarcely time to note a missing link in the chain. But the eyes of love, watching for one face, will never forget to note its loss, though the whole world beside crowded round. The hours passed heavily to the young hostess, for in the brilliant throng there was not one voice that could make the music her heart coveted. Where was he? In the morning he had called, his bright, manly self, full of life and vigor. It seemed impossible to believe that any ill had befallen him in those few short hours, yet equally impossible to think anything but an imperative necessity could have kept him from her side. "Father!" It was late in the evening when the word fell, in pleading accents, apon James Leigh's He had withdrawn a little from his guests, and stood looking over the room with a gloomy brow and firmly-set lips. “Well, Anna?' “What was it Mr. Hunter said, just now, about Norris Leslie. Harry is not here!" The last sentence whispered low, as if the utterance choked her. “I'll tell you to-morrow. Go dance now, child; and see here, Anna, don't be too stiif to young Markham; he comes of good stock. No swindlers in his family, I'll be bound.” “Father, what is it? Tell me now. Come, we are not wanted. Come into the library.” “ To-morrow, child, to-morrow." “Now. O father, come now.” The white face, imploring eyes, and the sup- pressed agony in the voice were more than the loving father could resist. Reluctantly he yielded to the hand that led him from the room, but before the library was gained his arm was wound round the young girl's waist, to keep the trembling, shivering figure from falling. “Is Harry dead ?” she said, as he closed the door. " Dead! no! Better if he were !" “No, no, father; you cannot have such desperate news as that for me!" “Anna, you must tear him from your heart, blot him from your life. Norris Leslie ab- sconded to-day with the funds of the bank of which he is president-he is a swindler''- “But, father, Harold !” “ His son accompanied him." She dropped at his feet as if the sentence had shot her dead. “It is a pretty mess, altogether," muttered 40 NEW YEAR'S AT LEIGH HOUSE. 41 the merchant, as he lifted the little figure in and sat down beside her, “yes, pet, I see what his arms, and carried it to a sofa, "and my your eyes are asking me, and I will tell you little pet will be the worst sufferer. I'd like all I know. Better tell you than have you in to have them here for one hour," and he a brain fever with conjecture. You see they groand his teeth together. “Now, if I call calculated to have a twenty-four hours' start, folks in, this will be all over town to-morrow, as this is a holiday, but there was some and I won't have Anna's name bandied about suspicion roused by Mr. Leslie's proceedings in this connection. Fortunately the engage yesterday, and to-day some of the directors ment is not much known. Anna! darling! went to the bank, too late to prevent, but in Anna !! time to discover the abduction. They went But there was no answer to his loving call. at once to the house. The old gentleman left As pale as death the girl lay unconscious of early this morning; Harold at noon. It is a her father's voice and loving caress. Crush bad business! If it was only a money loss, ing the bright dress and flowers she had put pet, I would not play the stern father to your on with such dainty care to please the eyes of love, but disgrace has never touched our him she loved, she lay cold and insensible name." like a crushed lily. “And shall not, through me! It will be a “ Anna! Speak to me, pet,” pleaded her hard fight, father, but I will live it down." father. “I must call Kate. Confound the “That's my brave girl! Shall”—and the fellow.” loving voice sank to a whisper-"shall I say And Mr. Leigh strode off to the parlor again, a prayer for my child to-night?" to find his sister. Of course she had to be “Here-now-papa.” hunted up, as people wanted in a hurry And while the echo of the band playing a always do, but he found her at last, and, Strauss waltz came floating up the broad taking her place, sent her, with a whispered staircase, and the faint sound of moving feet caution of quiet, to the library. and merry voices mingled with the music, in Utterly ignorant of any cause for the illness, the room above the father prayed that the the good lady was bewildered to find her niece young girl, for whose pleasure the gayety had lying in a fainting fit on the sofa, as unlike been awakened, might have strength to bear the gay pretty little belle of an hour previous the sorrow that evening had brought to her as it is possible to imagine. Her womanly happy life. skill and tenderness soon put the proper Many of the guests had departed before the remedies to work, and when the father re- host entered the drawing-room again, and turned, a short time later, he found Anna soon the quiet of the house was unbroken, conscious, but evidently unable to face her save by the stealthy feet of the servants as guests again that evening. they made all fast, before retiring. In the "I'll carry her up stairs, Kate," he said, cold gray light of the early winter morning, “and you must make the best excuse you alone in her room, Anna Leigh looked upon can." her dead past and her future. She was a “But what is the matter ?” inquired the very fairy in face and form, this little heroine bewildered lady. of mine ; was small, graceful, and wonderfully “ To-morrow-I'll tell you to-morrow. Go pretty. Her deep blue eyes were childlike in back now, and make the best story you can. their frank innocence, and round her shoul- If she don't know herself she can't tell any ders clusters of sunny curls fell like a shower body else," he muttered, as his sister left the of golden threads. From her babyhood she room. “Come, birdie, put your arms around had known id grțef.:: Her mother died before my neck, and I'll carry you to your room." she had tea pied,to 11sp her name, and her She clung to him fondly. This was a love father's widowed sister had filled her place she could confide in, pure, true, unshaken :) :from the Roar of her death. Loviág her tall from her infancy. Her little figure nestled magnificent fatherwitiran almost worshipping into his strong arms, as he lifted her from the love, Anna had been repaid by the tenderest, sofa, and her head sank down wearily yet mostocaressing affection' evef 'bestowed upon trustingly upon the broad shoulder, that a chiid: 'Suèrounded by the purest Chris- never yet turned away fro its pressure. tid influences, her religion had been one of “Yes,” he said, as he put her on her bed, the beauties of her life, gilding and refining 42 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. have thought him the unworthy man the public voice proclaimed him to be, she had pride enough to have thrust his love from her heart, even if she broke it with the rupture; but her faith was not yet shaken. There was some mystery yet to be explained; he had been forced, perhaps, to join his father, impli- cated innocently. She knew nothing of busi- ness arrangements, but she was sure he would return yet, unspotted, and prove his inno- cence. all else. Then the love that had grown so unconsciously in her heart was almost a childish passion, so long ago seemed its com- mencement. As she sat in the low arm-chair before the fire, on that cold morning, she let her thoughts dwell upon Harold as she believed him to be. The tall manly figure, the frank, open face, the voice, ringing and cheerful; not one memory was there of an act or word that was not open and frank as the sunshine. Harold Leslie a swindler! It was very hard to realize, and the more memory painted of his life, the more clearly she contradicted the supposition. “It is false!” she said at last, in her heart. “He is noble, good, and true, and he will yet prove himself so. I cannot grieve father by any violent assertion of what I believe, but I will wait! I am yours, Harry, yours only. My promise was not made for a day or a week, but for life, and if you never come to claim it, I will die, true to my first, only love." She pressed her lips to the diamond circlet upon her finger, and in her heart pledged herself to keep her betrothal vow. Mr. Leigh looked apxiously at the pale little face, as Anna came in to breakfast, but she gave him a brave sweet smile, and he was satisfied. "I never dreamed the little witch had so much pride,” he said to his sister. “She's a true Leigh," was the proud an- Nearly a year had passed, and no news had been obtained of the defaulters. The bank was closed, and the directors trying to meet some of the claims upon them. Execrations against the name of the president had gone up from merchants crippled or ruined, from widows and orphans beggared, from old men and women who had been years toiling for the sums invested, from sufferers and sympa- thizers, till Anna's heart would cower and shrink, as if from a blow, whenever the name fell upon her ears. Yet in her heart she gave the lie to every word that touched her lover's good name. Summer was over, and fall brought the Leighs from Newport to Leigh House, their city home. It was an old-fashioned home- stead, built during the Revolution, before the city was more than a village, and, in spite of modern improvements and additions, it re- tained its old title still. Anna's face had changed in these months of suspense and trial. From a careless child she had become a thoughtful woman, bearing a secret sorrow hidden from every eye. The laughing eyes of old were now earnest and grave; the smiling lips. firmer, the face less mobile, yet sweet and winning in its expression of dignity. A tiny woman, but winsome and lovely in her dignified grace. Leon Markham worshipped her. It is not too strong a word to paint the passionate adoration he poured forth at her feet. He had guessed something on that New Year's night, when he missed her from the room, but her reappearance a few days later, her gentle loveliness all unchanged, with only a dignity that might be the throwing aside of childish- ness, completely deceived him. He had none of the claim of childhood's acquaintance, for he had come from a New England home to Apna's native city but a few years before. There was everything to favor him. His position and faniily were good, he Swer. And Anna only siniled, thinking the day would come when she might confess that more than pride sustained her. It was a sore struggle at first for Anna Leigh to enter again into society soon enough to prevent conjecture as to her withdrawal. Her engagement was so recent that no certain tidings of it were afloat, and the New Year's party, planned that the loving father might introduce his intended son-in-law to bis friends, had passed without any suspicion being aroused of the failure of its main object. The days crept weårăly to top girl's darkened life. , In vain she brought pride, religion, and duty to bear: ipod her heart;, there was still ever' present the bitter; wearing seňse of lone- liness and pain. She loved her father fondly; she loved her aụnt, but she had given to Harold a deeper stronger love than either, and her heart cried out against the cruel separa- tion and the cloud upon his name. Conld she Was NEW YEAR'S AT LEIGI HOUSE. 43 wealthy and talented, so without much fear he went to James Leigh for permission to address his daughter. The father was delighted. Here was a chance to blot out entirely the memory of the prior engagement, if-if-his thoughts halted over that if. Anna's demeanor was not that of one who had forgotten. Yet he was sincere when he bade Leon Markham good speed in his wooing. I wish I could paint for you this young New England gentleman, who loved Anna Leigh. He was handsome, yet it was not mere outline of feature that made his face so winning. There was a charm in the earnest expression of his full dark eyes, a feeling of security in the play of the beautiful mouth, a beauty of expression that made trust cling instinctively to this man wherever he went. He was that rarely perfect combina- tion, a Christian gentleman. Seeing these two in the highest attributes of their hearts, you can picture the torture of that interview when Leon besought Anna to be his wife. She admired, respected, trusted him, bat there was no love in her heart for any but Harold. Noting the agony on his face when she told him she could give him only friendship, her womanly pity was roused, and with the quick intnition of one noble heart reading another, she threw herself upon his generosity, and showed him her heart. "The whole world believes him unworthy,” she said, in conclusion, “and I have never, ever to my father, spoken his name since the fatal New Year's night, but I can be the wife of no man but Harold Leslie.” "If your faith is shaken ?” he qnestioned. “If he proves unworthy, my love may die. i cannot tell, for I cannot believe him what the world says he is.” There was a moment of silence, so deep that even the breathing of the two disturbed it. Then he rose from his seat and stood before her. “I thank you for your confidence,” he said, in low, tender tones, “and from my heart I pray that your faith may prove true.” She rose too, as he spoke, and placed her little hands in his. Twice she tried to speak, but the words died on her lips. It had been an hour of intense mental pain, and she was delicately organized and felt such keenly. “I am am your friend ?'' he asked. "My brother,''she said softly. “So be it. Reinember, if I can serve you, my life is at the call of my little sister," and he bent over her and kissed the sunny hair rip- pling from her low broad forehead, and so left her, comforted and soothed, to carry away his own agony, and fight down the bitterest torture of his life. Said I not truly this was a Christian gentleman ? Three years glided away, and Leon Mark- ham had visited many spots in the Old World where tourists love to linger. His home had grown insupportable when the hope that had made his love-life beautiful was wrested from him, and he had wandered away in quest of change and excitement. It was early winter, and he was in Italy, when, wandering one day through the streets of Rome, he met what seemed to him the shadow of Harold Leslie. There was a moment's pause, then hand grasped hand in cordial pressure. “You are ill ?" was Leon's first question. “I have been, may be again. I hope so," was the desponding answer. “ How long since you left the States ?” “Nearly three years." “Do you hear often ?" “Never, scarcely. I have no correspon- dent." "Then you--my father? I did not know but'- “What? I am your friend, Harold.” “My father died, you know, in Florence, three months ago, of malarious fever. I had never found him, in all these years, but he saw my name on a list of arrivals there and sent for me. It is a long story, Leon.”' There was something almost pitiful in the pleading eyes he raised to his friend's face. “Come to my room, and tell me all," said Leon. "It is no idle curiosity prompts me.” It was but a short walk, and when once the tale was commenced Harold poured it forth in terse, hurried words. He had found upon his table, on that fatal New Year's day; a note from his father bid- ding him farewell, and hinting at his crime. At once he had followed him, but was too late to catch the European steamer from New York. Waiting until the next, he had tried for three years to find Norris Leslie, and the last year published his name wherever he went, hoping it might catch his father's eyes. The one aim and hope of his life had been to persuade his father to restore the ill-gotten 44 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. RINGS. wealth, and clear his name. At Florence he was summoned to Norris Leslie's death-bed, and gained his point. All that was left of the money so fraudulently obtained was sent in trusty hands to America ; but, unknown to his son, his father had also transmitted a letter, clearing the young man's name from all blame, stating his course, and amply exon- erating him from any share in the swindle, or knowledge of its contemplation. It was a long, sad story. “I never knew of the letter till I saw it published in the Gazette," said Harold. “My father is buried in Florence, under his His assumed one was only drop- ping the surname, and it is recorded on the hotel register as Norris.” “But what are you doing?” “Painting portraits. Very poor daubs too, I fear, but I manage to live. “You will return, now, to your home?” “Never! I-in fact, Leon, you don't know 66 own name. 2 all." 66 3) “But I know this,” he answered, firmly, though the words seemed to burn his lips. “ Anna Leigh trusted you through all, and loves you still." “Leon! You would not deceive me?" “I had it from her own lips." There was a New Year's party at Leigh House a few weeks after the above conversa- tion. It was the first one given since the night when Norris Leslie ran away from his native city, to die in Florence. Anna Leigh was a graceful, pretty hostess, and the light has come back to her eyes, the spring to her step, for beside her stands the tall, manly figure of one who has come home to live down his father's shame, in his own upright life. Leon Markham is there too, and if his heart bleeds yet from its old wounds, he gives no sign to his "little sister,' as she raises her grateful glance to his face, and thanks him for the crowning blessing of her life. FINGER-RINGS, WEDDING-RINGS, AND OTHER RINGS. THERE is a region in which many things have had their origin, but which has never been ex- plored by traveller or navigator; nevertheless, it is a handy region for historian and antiqua- rian to refer to. History and inventions, manners and customs are lost in it, and yet somehow they emerge from it, but in what manner, and at what time, we are profoundly iguorant, and we shelter our ignorance by quoting the region of “fog-land." The ori- gin of nations and languages is lost in the mists of antiquity, and such is the case with the origin of wearing finger-rings. But there was a time, “some thousand thousand years ago," when the ring came out of the mist; but what part it played in the mist we know not. Pliny, who had much light on many matters, observes that we are in the dark as to the first person who invented or wore the ring, because what is said of Pro- metheus, and Midas, and Circe of the magic ring, are fables. No mention is made in Homer of rings, and the conclusion of the Roman author is, that in the Homeric age finger-rings were unknown. But if we accept, as we readily do, the Bible as the oldest writ- ten historical monument, we find the use of rings among the Hebrew people, where (Gen. xxxviii.) Judah, Jacob's son, gives his ring or signet to Tamar, as a pledge of his promise; but the ring appears to have been in use at the same time among the Egyptians, where (Gen. xli.) Pharoah puts his ring upon Josepli's hand, as a mark of the power which he gave him. And in the first Book of Kings, chap. xxi., Jezebel seals the warrant she sent for killing Naboth with the king's ring. The ancient Chaldeans, Babylonians, Per- sians, and Greeks had likewise the use of the ring, and Quintus Curtius tells us that Alex- ander sealed the letters he wrote into Europe with his own seal. Alexander, indeed, had one Pyrgotelas to be his seal engraver “ by appointment,” as he had Apelles and Lysippus to take his image in marble. The Persians will have it that Guiamschild, the fourth king of the first race, was the first to have intro- duced the ring for sealing his letters and other acts. According to Plato, Cyges, a simple shepherd of Lydia, found in the flank of a bronze horse a marvellous ring, which made the one who wore it invisible. This talisman CHRYSANTHEMUMS. BY A. M. DANA. When leaves drop sadly 'neath a dark’ning heaven, And summer swallows take their parting wing, Then are these starry frost-kissed flowrets given- An earnest of the coming blooms of Spring. So, when around our buds of joy are fading, And o'er us waves of dark affliction roll, Hope whispers that beyond death's gloomy shading, Shall bloom the lovely Amaranths of the soul. RINGS. 45 he turned to bad purpose in seducing the wife of Candaules, King of Lydia. After we emerge from the mist and fog era, we find that the use of the ring was adopted by all the great nations of antiquity. From the Egyptians the Greeks copied; from the Greeks the ancient Italians; from the ancient Italians the Romans; from the Romans all the nations of the west. In Egypt signet-rings were much worn. They were of gold, silver, iron, bronze, and frequently of ivory and a kind of a porcelain. The primitive use of the ring was to serve as a signet-to prevent fraud in the sealing of letters and caskets containing treasure. It was also the symbol of office, of confidence. Hence Solon ordained that no seal engraver should keep the impression by him of any seal he had cut; and Pythagoras, out of re- verence, forbade the images of the gods to be cut on the rings. The impression of the sig- net-ring (annulus signatorius) was not only made on deeds and letters, but even on the wine cask and cellar door. They were affixed to certain signs or symbols, used for tokens, like our old-fashioned tally-sticks. Rings were also given by those who agreed to club for an entertainment to the person commis- sioned to bespeak it; hence, symbolam dare, to pay his shot or reckoning. At first, the ring appears to have been a plain hoop of metal worn upon any finger in- differently. Afterwards, it bore upon it a sign--the mark or name of its owner; in fact, a signet ring, for the verification of documents, decrees, etc. Sometimes the mounting of the ring was symbolic, as in the Egyptian rings, where there are turning scarabæi. Gems took the place of porcelain and rude metallic mount- ings; but it is believed that gems were not mounted on rings before the LXII Olympiad. No gems of the Pheidian period are known to exist. The Etruscans, who probably inherited the art from the Greeks, were wonderful gold- smiths, and their skill in the making of rings has never been surpassed. They had a pe- culiar method of fusing and joining metals without the use of solder, and this is the secret of knowing how to detect Etruscan jewelry in its genuine state. Gem engraving was practised by the Etruscans at a very early date. It was at first rude, but soon came to rival the best examples of Grecian art in this kind, and the Greeks have never been ex- celled. Mr. Waterton, who possesses one of the finest collections of ancient rings in Eng- land, states that the Etruscans rarely worked in cameo; but he has in his collection one in modern setting. He further states, that rings of extraordinary beauty have been found in Etruscan tombs; that they abound, and yet, such was their fertility in design, that seldom have two rings of the same pattern been found. The Sabines had rings in the time of Romulus. Pliny cannot learn which of the kings of Rome first adopted it; but there are no signs of it in any of their statutes before those of Numa and Servius Tullius. The earliest rings, so far as we know, were of base metal-iron, bronze, etc., or of ivory, porcelain, and sometimes of agate or corne- lian. Silver rings of the early Roman period are more rare than gold rings; and iron and bronze rings were often gilt and enamelled. The so-called Egypto-Phænician rings came from the excavations of Sardinia. According to Artemidorus, the gold part of a ring was fixed within the iron; but this may have been at the time when the ring of pure gold was forbidden to ordinary citizens. Such rings were called Samothracian, and were often used in sorcery. There were anciently gold rings with a silver seal, and silver rings with a gold seal. Some were thicker, others of open or filigree work. The Romans, with whom the ring had a most intimate, personal, and ceremonial history, wore, at first, and for a long time, iron rings ; and Pliny assures us that Marius first wore a gold one in his third consulate, which was in the year of Rome, 650. Sometimes the ring was hollow, sometimes solid; sometimes, after stones were adopted, the stone was plain, sometimes engraved, and the graving was sometimes in relievo, and sometimes in creux; the last was called gemmæ actype ; the former gemmæ sculptura prominente. The round in which the ring was set by the Romans was called pala, likewise funda. DISPUTING.--If thou continuest to take de- light in idle argumentations, thou mayest be qualified to combat with the Sophist, but will never know how to live with men. RELIGION. - We know, and what is better, we feel inwardly, that religion is the basis of civil society, the source of all good and of all com- fort. ONE WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. BY MRS. DENISON. "Until, driven by the neglect of society, and the avarice of the rich, she consents to a life of crime and humiliation.'" “Is that the end ?" asked Hannah, quietly, not looking up from the work she was busy upon. "That is the end, and a very well-written thing it is, too;" observed the placià Mrs. Martyn, folding up the paper. “Well! I'll tell you what I think,” said Hannah, in a suppressed voice, coming out of her dreamy languor, her cheeks crimsoning, her eyes flashing, “the author is simply an idiot-the driveller! Do you suppose any fate could lower me to such a depth as that?" “ You !" cried Mrs. Martyn, aghast. “Me! Hannah Martyn, aunt. You glance around; yes, a spacious room like this, glo- riously dowered with the fruits of genius—the home of Mark Martyn, one of the foremost merchants of his time, do not seem compati- ble with the idea of penury, of utter destitu- tion. But it might come—this wretched time of loneliness and despair, even to Mark Mar- tyn's daughter, and I be driven to the very streets without a shelter or a friend. But do you think," and her scissors snapped defi- antly," that I could for a moment forget my self-respect ?'' “Of course you wouldn't,” said Mrs. Mar- tyn, her weak nerves a little startled; “oh, no, of course no, but then-you might starve." “No, and I wouldn't starve,"cried Hannah, another energetic snap giving force to her speech. “What in meroy would you do? Not take your life, I hope !" " That would be as weak and cowardly as the other,” replied Hannah. “ Aunty, I haven't been tried yet-I trust in Heaven I never may be-but if I am, God give me grace to show to the world, as far as my example can reach, that women need not be driven by the neglect of society and the avarice of the rich, or for any other reason, to consent to a life of crime and humiliation." “Haddy, you'd better get up that face when Fletcher comes. I'll be bound he never saw you when you were so near being a posi- tive beauty as you are at this moment." Hannah turned, laughing, as the pert little blonde came over to her lounge and threw herself down, shaking yellow ringlets, that the wind had disarranged, into their place. “What system of philosophy have you dis- covered ? Has she been fighting any of your pet theories, Mrs. Martyn? She always was a belligerent,” rattled the pretty little lady. “She came near choking a girl, once, for tell. ing a falsehood about her; yes, she did, Mrs. Martyn; she got her fingers in, this way, and tightened her collar till the poor girl thought, I verily believe, that her hours were num- bered. I shall never forget that time,” con- tinued Minnie Moore, laughing till she almost lost her breath, “nor how she turned on grim Miss Grim, the teacher, that was her name, though, and cried, with a stamp of the foot, “This girl has lied about me, and if she is not punished-for the creature was a toady and a favorite-I shall make her so afraid of me that she won't dare to come to school." “ That was years and years ago," mur- mured Hannah, laughing at the recollection, "and I was a little child." "Ah! but the child is mother of the wo- man, I presume I may say, changing the old saw a little, and I confess that if I did do any- thing to deserve your wrath, I should look out for my throat. But did you know that Fletcher Chase is going to India ?” Hannah's face whitened for a moment, even to her lips. Something was wanted that had fallen on the carpet, and she stooped, need- lessly long, to recover it; then her face was natural again. Meantime Mrs. Martyn the elder had made all the exclamations and in- quiries needful. “Yes, he has a splendid chance, they say, to make his fortune-that is if he isn't wrecked on the way, or don't die of fever after he gets there. I'm so provoked at it; we shall all miss him terribly, for he was al. ways on hand, you know, for us girls. There never was such a fellow for sport, and what we shall do these long winters, coming, I'in sure I don't know. Isn't he foolish, utterly silly? There's not the least need of it, not the least. His uncle is enormously rich, and he never needed to do anything." 46 ONE WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 47 “Pleasanter to stand on the steps of the Continental, I presume, and stare at the ladies,” said Hannah, still pursuing her work. “There! isn't that just like her? Almost a sneer, if not quite. I don't believe Fletcher Chase ever did stand on the Continental steps for that particular purpose; he isn't that kind of a man. But, Hannah, I came to consult you about the Hapgood's party. It's got up in such a sudden way, you know, because John is going off, I suppose. There's a for- eign fever, one would imagine, and all our beaux are attacked with it. Well, you see I've worn my blue silk twice-though, to be sure, once at a wedding-and mamma com- plains about getting another; besides, there isn't time, and"- “Well,” said Hannah, smiling, for the pretty blonde had talked herself out of breath again, “can't you change the trimming ?" “Yes, if I had anything decent, or a set of pearls, or”. "Why, my dear, you shall have my pearls." Minnie Moore looked up quite glowing, her bright eyes dancing. “Oh! I wouldn't have dared to ask you, and I hardly dare to accept now, they are so beautiful and costly.” “You needn't mind at all,” replied Han- nah, quietly; “I don't care for pearls myself. Come into my room, and see if there is any- thing else.” "You darling!” murmured the delighted girl, rising and following her into a richly furnished boudoir. Hannah looped aside the curtains so exquisitely frosted with the dain- tiest needle-work, and opened the drawer in which she kept her jewels, all the time mov- ing, and looking, and talking, with a preoc- cupied, absent manner, with just the thought of a smile flitting from eye to lip. "Oh, what it is to be rich !" cried the little blonde, her face growing luminous, as if from the reflection of the many-colored, scintillant jewels lying in their dainty nests, and yet seeming the very incarnation of restlessness, as they trembled in flashes and sparkles with the least touch of the vibrant light; “why, how can you ever choose?” “Because I know that garnet is becoming, and it is safe to wear diamonds; the rest I never use, except in defiance of my better judgment, because aunty gets so set on it, as she says.' “But, dear me," cried Minnie, in an excess of self-love, “they would all become me.” “Yes," Hannah responded, smiling, “I have no doubt they would; because"-the smile seemed further to say, your pretty, life- less face is so dependent upon glitter and color. “And oh, what a lovely bertha! Why, I never saw you wear it in any life.” “No, you never did; I don't like it, and aunt beguiled me into buying it. I never shall wear it. It's a pity it should lie there, getting yellow. If I thought a little lady of my acquaintance would take it kindly-my giving her what I do not prize myself—I would make her a present of it.” The little blonde face looked up eagerly. "Meaning me?" “Meaning you." Minnie shook her head. “I'm not a bit proud that way,” she said, "and you know it, Hannah Martyn. But to take such a costly thing! Why''- “Fifty dollars! That's a trifle, my dear.” “And it's just perfection," sighed Minnie. “It's what I've been sighing for, and longing for. It would match, oh, so splendidly ! with the pearls. If mamma would only buy it now!" “Mamma could not buy it for any money," said Hannah, smiling again, to see of what value such trifles (to her) seemed in the sight of the widow Moore's pretty daughter. ** I would take it as a favor if you accept it,” she said, folding it; “for it is sheer shame to keep it lying there so utterly useless. You are welcome entirely, and heartily welcome.” "I know I am, you darling. Oh how kind you are to me! If I ever do get a rich husband and of course I shall—but then I couldn't give you anything you hav'n't got.” Hannah made some merry reply, and a few moments after was alone with her jewels. Alone, to think-to triumph, that any little seed she dropped might bear fruit-and such fruit! She moved about the room restlessly, touching this and that in an uncertain, smiling way, murmuring, with a fond intonation in her rich voice, "Then he is going; can it be he heeded what I said ?" Her cheek flushed brightly; her lips parted tenderly, giving her again that almost beau- tiful look; she glanced straight before her into the great oval mirror, and yet seemed not to see the rich crimson of lip and cheek, for she stood again in that curtained recess heard the trembling, throbbing sighs of the 7 48 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Strauss waltz-looked along the far vista of splendid coloring and graceful motion- watched the appearing and disappearing of happy, beautiful, youthful faces, the light seeming to revolve about them in shining circles, and yet, withal, heard but one voice, saw but one face--for Fletcher Chase stood beside her. A combination of indolence and strength, from whom one, well-skilled in physiognomy, might look for great faults or great virtues ; a handsome man, the slow movements of whose eyes, and the little conventional drawl of speech which never seemed to quicken into enthusiasm, proclaimed a thorough mas- tery over himself, so far as any exhibition of feeling ever went. Strange that to such a man as this Hannah Martyn should bow down. But she loved him; she never disguised the fact to herself, she could not. With her intense hatred of deception it was difficult to conceal it from stranger eyes, perhaps from his. And he liked her, because she was so dif- ferent from other women; because she was never afraid of him, never petted his self- love, which threatened to be inordinate. Although in her heart, as I have said, she bowed down to him, in her outer correspond- ence she made him bow to anything but himself. “And so you don't wonder that I am ennu- ied ?”' he was saying, as she looked far off at the throng. “Not at all. What have you to keep you from stagnation ? One unvaried round of ease and pleasure, none of the excitements that stir the mind healthily. I'd run off. I know I should be tempted to change condi- tions with some hard-working man, and earn one right-down fatigue-one good, hearty shoulder-ache, if it was only for a day, only to feel some sympathy with these nameless men who are of more use to the world than!'- she stopped short-blushes always became her. “I am. Go on," he said, bringing his eyes slowly to bear on her face. “Well, Fletcher Chase, you know in your soul what I have said is true : that idleness is vice and slow self-murder. Don't you now, honestly ?! “This dance with me," he said, coolly, as if completely ignoring her question, as he led her ont. She was trembling, she hardly knew why, almost tearful, half angry with herself, and distressed at his nonchalance—but before the dance was through her mind recovered its usual tone. Since then she had heard nothing of Fletcher Chase, till Minnie Moore told her that he was going to India to make his fortune. That same night she learned it from his own lips; learned that she need no longer smother her love; learned that among all the attractions he had seen at home and abroad, her almost beautiful face had been the brightest. Fletcher had been gone a month when Aunt Martyn died. Then Mark, the tall, hale old merchant, her father, after a few months of mourning, hurried her off to Washington. A feverish season of excitement, in which Han- nah's heart was not, and then Mark said that business called him to Buffalo, to which city he took his daughter, seeming for the first time in his life to feel pleasure in her society, even preferred staying alone with her to going down into the brilliant parlors of the great hotel. All this time Hannah had noticed that there was something amiss with her father. His actions and speech were abrupt, at times almost incoherent. She watched him anx- iously, saw that his letters caused him great suffering-and, alas! one fatal day, news was brought to her, while she waited for him to come down to breakfast, that her father was dead! It was hard that all had to be bruited about so publicly, very hard. The little bottle of prussic acid held tightly in the cold hand, the strange fits of depres- sion, the haunting dread in his eyes, all were accounted for when news came that Mark Martyn was utterly bankrupt--that beside the few dollars in the pocket-book he carried with him, amounting in all to but little over a hundred, not a cent was left for the petted daughter of luxury. The time of her trial had come. Some mercantile friends, mostly creditors, came on to Buffalo, nobly offering assistance, but in the first days of her anguish Hannah refused to be comforted, and sat alone and tearless in the little room of the plain home she had chosen after the funeral was over. But it was not for her to sit and sorrow long, or hopelessly. Something must be done, and so she set out to find ways and means of helping herself. Some letters of ONE WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 49 39 condolenee reached her. She was advised to come back to Philadelphia, but that she would not think of for a moment. To strug- gle bravely she felt that she must be among strangers. So she sat down to sum up her resources. She did not play, therefore she could not teach music-that gentle resort of indigence ; she knew how to sew well, but owing to a lameness of the side, from which she had always suffered, she could use her needle but a few hours at a time. She shrank from the public exposure of the shop, although, as a last resort, she was willing to occupy that position. She found at first some light wool- work-zephyr-knitting—which answered well while her money held out; but she had chosen a good boarding-house, and the little sum soon dwindled away under the demands of her landlady. Then she sought a cheaper house, and went up with her trunk a story higher, into a room graced with a carpet a yard square, and a narrow hard bed. Here she worked diligently at what she could get to do, but the small needs of life that look so insig- nificant to those whom wealth has dowered, drained her little purse weekly. The shoes, though they had worn almost like fairy gifts, at last began to give way, and her landlady looked at her with suspicion if she fell behind- hand only a few shillings. The time came when her miserable little candle-flame flick- ered till long after midnight, as she sewed, and the rude scrawls upon her whitewashed wall, done in red and black, leered at her with painfully disturbed, grotesque faces, and seemed with every flicker of the weak flame to be dancing towards her, receding only as she looked up with bloodshot, weary eyes. Unfortunately her landlady was a coarse, ignorant woman, and could not appreciate her fine courtesy, and striet politeness. After the manner of such creatures, she speculated largely upon her lodger, giving as her opinion various uncharitable surmises as to what her former life had been. "She's some fine lady, left-that's my mind about it,” she would say, with sundry winks and shrugs. “P'raps she's trying to do better, for it's true as gospel, I believe she varies her meals only with crackers and water-and she's gittin' that thin, that I'm 'feared I shall have her sick on my hands yet." VOL. LXXIV.-4 There was likelihood of that, one night, when Hannah came home after the third day, unsuccessful in her search for work-and stumbled blindly up the stairs. Terrible, split- ting pains in her head, giddiness, a parched tongue, burning hands, and heavy eyes, all announced the presence of the dread phantom we call fever. He pressed his flaming hands to her forehead-he grinned horribly in her face, and his eyes like glints of lightning seemed to leer at her bere and there from the disfigured wall. How she had walked that day! Lured here by a sign, and there by a placard, she would enter shop after shop, only to be disappointed. “We want experienced hands, ma'am," was the invariable answer. “But I could soon learn if they would take me," said Hannah, dimly thinking that she could live on faith till then. “Why can't I get a situation in a store like this ?” “Bless you, that is hardest of all,” said the saleswoman. "I waited three months for this place. You see the girls get their friends in, or the salesmen do, and a stranger hasn't no chance at all.” “Oh, if I could only die!” was the next thought, as, with a bursting heart, she turned away. “Oh, Fletcher, they will not let me live even by the sweat of my brow !" Not long after her return her landlady was summoned. "I'm afraid I'm going to be ill," said Hannah, in weak voice. “And I hope not ma'am," retorted the landlady, savagely, as if she had been struck. “I can't be having you sick here.” "I was going to say that I have friends in Philadelphia, who''- “Well, then, you better go to 'em," said the woman, coarsely; “either them or the hospital. I can't have you here." Hannah gave a faint cry at the word hospital. Then she liſted herself, eyes and cheeks blazing, took one step towards the creature in her old, imperious way, the woman shrinking in terror. “I say you shall not--you dare not send me to the hospital," she cried, half delirious at the thought. “Do you know who I am ? Why, woman, I could have bought you and sold you a thousand times, three months ago.” “Yes, no doubt--that's what I've been thinking. A pretty character to let into my 50 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. house; that's jest where the land lays. He's gone off and left ye. Well, you might a known he would; it always turns out so. What do such men care, when"- Hannah had been standing there with eye- balls nearly bursting, so fierce was the pain, not comprehending till the last few words were spoken. Then she sprang towards her again, with outstretched hand, the fever throbbing in every vein. “Woman, fiend! How dare you talk to a fatherless, friendless girl, in that way! How dare you insult her, and lower yourself by such suspicions ! See"-and she fumbled over her little workbox, trembling from head to foot, ghastly white one moment, crimson the next, and brought out a newspaper. “Read that!” she cried, pointing to a para- graph, and then sank down, vainly striving to press the pain back with both hands held closely against her throbbing temples. “Oh, so you was his daughter!' said the landlady, laying down the paper. “Well, you needn't take on so about it. I'm poor, and it's natural for poor folks to be suspi- cious, I suppose. It's no use trying to take care of you, if you are going to be sick, any way; and the—what I said is good enough for anybody.” At that moment came a lean child into the room-a child all eyes and feet, who had such a worn, hungry look, that Hannah, in the midst of her agony, had thought to pity her. “A letter, Miss," she said, "and a pack- idge, Miss; they said it was for you, down stairs." Hannah's trembling fingers held and un- corded the little box, or whatever it was, tore open the letter, and tears, that eased her tor. tured brain, fell on the childish words within. “DBAR, DARLING Haddy: I've been trying so long to find you. You know I never re- turned your pearl necklace, so here it is; I'm so thankful I had it! and I was so foolish as to sell your-no-I mean my lace bertha—and I got twenty-five dollars for it; please don't refuse it. I hope you are not poor; but if you want it ever so little, please do accept it as readily as I accepted your gift. Oh, it was such a shame that everything went! I cried like a baby when I heard of it; all your splen- did jewels, your elegant piano! i can't bear to think of it, and I never, never go by your house; I'd walk a mile round first. I trust these may reach you; I am almost sure they will, by the way I send it. O Haddy, can't you come to Philadelphia ? You shall be wel. come to us. Our little home is just as plea- sant as ever, and we should be so proud to have you." With such tender entreaty the long letter abounded. Hannah put it aside, the tears still streaming. “There! see for yourself-pearls! and mine! Costly enough, too, to keep me from the hospital, I think, for one while." The woman said nothing, but stared en- viously at the beautiful things; while Han- nah threw on her bonnet and shawl, and hur- ried out. It was not difficult to convert the ornaments into money, though she received far less than their value. “A few dollars left;" she murmured, as six weeks afterward she moved feebly about her room; “enough to keep me till I get up my strength, and then and then !" The weeks sped on; she was well enough to resume life's duties, but-what duties ! Should she begin anew the wearisome hunt after sewing, and stores; and spend weeks to learn the initiatory process by which she was to become an expert? That would not do. But her inexorable needs stared her in the face. Her dress was shabby; her home, poor as it was, to be paid for. The doctor had said she must have substantial food. She needed rich and strengthening juices: she had been accustomed all her life to the finest of the wheat. Had she begun now to regret the luxuries, the splendors that once had almost wearied her! Did visions of spacious rooms, and costly pictures, and shining silver, and troop- ing friends, ever ready to welcome with out- stretched arms, haunt her now? Oh, but she was weary sometimes; very weary with the struggle of thought-very sad with the pros- pect before her. For a home-just a home- however rugged and bare of comforts, what would she not have given. The hard, cold winter was upon her. Fuel must be bought, the thin cloak was insufficient to protect her from the blasts and frosts ; but how to get a thicker! She had one promise of a situation, but she might be obliged to wait for it weeks, perhaps months. The landlady was kinder- had even gone the length of fitting up a little stove for the few fagots she could buy in bundles. And, during the period of her con- valescence, she had tortured herself with doubts and fears. Mr. Martyn had never been a very affectionate father. but Hannah had ONE WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 51 loved him doubly, since her mother died, having no one else upon whom she could be- stow her affection. Now, looking back upon his terrible death, she thought over all that miserable time, and wondered if, by any act of hers, she might have averted it. It seemed to grow more and more fraught with horror as the time passed on--and what had she to do but to nurse her morbid fancies? Oh, for work! work! that almost divine healer of human sorrow-that beautiful handmaiden sent from the skies, to make the burden of cross and care lighter by more than half. The sweet little thoughtfulness of Minnie Moore had touched her, and deepened the love she had always felt for the timid, childish creature. As soon after her illness as she was able to handle a pen, she had written to her pretty friend, thanking her for the gifts which she did not excuse herself for retaining, and for the offer of a home, which she would not accept. Then came dreary thought again. What should she do? She might make caps, and by laborious stitching earn perhaps twenty- five or thirty cents a day. She might make shirts for ten, fifteen, and twenty cents apiece. She had tried to obtain a situation as a sew- ing-machine operator, that being the least painful way in which she could use a needle, but there was a surplus of hands at that time; perhaps—if she “would call again;" and she grew tired of calling. As for teaching, that was out of the question after one application for examination. She faltered over the sim. plest questions; not that she did not know but her knowledge of a rudimental kind, in books, had a trick of deserting her at the needed moment. In fine, it seemed as if all ways were closed, all employments shut up to her, and though she was still knitting, the remuneration scarce sufficed her for her fire- wood and scanty, unhealthy food. When she went out, with sometimes a newspaper only, between her dress and her thin shawl, the cold, to which she had always been suscepti- ble, pierced her through and through, till it seemed as if the tears it forced out froze upon her lashes. One night her little bundle of wood had not lasted till the sun went down. Hannah was cold, roused, bitter. "I will not live thus!” she cried, with the determined stamp of old ; "my health is going, my energies rusting, my Very heart is numb," and then rang out the old cry, "What shall I do? Oh, my God, what shall I do?! She had asked of the right source, though not yet with the right intent. The wind whistled through the crazy case- ments as Hannah began a quick and half angry walk. She felt tempted to arraign Providence, that seemed to be bearing down upon her so cruelly. She looked about her with the most intense disgust-at the bare floor, the discolored wall, the guttering can- dle, the dull black stove yawning with cracks, the rusted pipe on which poverty seemed written in scraggy red letters of German text. She scrutinized her own worn finger, thin and roughened with the rents of the needle, for she had alternated her knitting with sewing. She thought of her past, when a word brought the most tempting viandsmand oh, she was so hungry! so hungry for one good, comfort- able meal, every pore in her body cried out for food and warmth. And again she cried with passionate determination, “I will not live thus; I will not! I will not !” But what to do? Fletcher would not come back for two years. His letters were to be forwarded, if any came, by little Minnie ; but none might come. And if they did, she should only write once, telling him all; there would be no need of any more, she thought- and still the old cry overbore all this: "I will not live thus !" What to do? As if the tempter stood before her bodily, came the vision of a beau- tiful room-a placid, honored old lady-a young girl knitting—a well-written article by some one who treated of the wrongs of women, and this sentence, which she seemed to hear shudderingly: "Until, driven by the neglect of society, and the avarice of the rich, she consents to a life of crime and humiliation." Her cheek burned with a hotter than fever flush as she remembered all this. Involun- tarily the hand clenched and her teeth set with that same resentful feeling. She had said then that she would not starve nor die ; but oh, how little had she imagined all the perils attending actual cold, and hunger, and helplessness! Poor auntie ! if she could see her, how her tender, timid leart must ache! Again the casement rattled, and a bit of paper at her feet rustled and fluttered towards her. “Poor thing! even you feel the cold, I believe," she said, almost caressingly, as she took it up-a torn and mutilated advertise- ment. The light of the almost spent candle 52 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. re- fell full upon it; she clutched it eagerly with both hands, as her eye caught the broken words and joined them here and there. “Enough! Thank God! No woman need consent to a life of crime and humiliation, while the world stands, and there are homes in plenty provided for them by the great Father." Her face was transfigured now; she had taken a resolve, in which there was no humiliation, the faint shadow of which had always been present with her-yes, her face looked not almost beautiful, but more than beautiful. There was struggle no longer, no longer passion and defiance in the way she said, again and again, “I will not live thus!" “You have noticed it then, John, dear?! "Well, I don't know that I did before you called it before me so forcibly. I have reason to remember that, for it was in the midst of the toughest Greek sentence I ever yet applied myself to master." “I think you were a little angry then, John,” and a mellow laugh, clear and ringing, though low, showed how small an estimate she put upon John's anger. The room was large, comfortably furnished, well warmed, and books peeped out every- where, from brackets, shelves, corners, tables, boxes, and closets. John was a bookworm, who made more than a comfortable living by his pen. Annita was a little, cheerful, merry busy body-a check upon her husband when he threatened to entomb himself alive, his helper if he was overtasked, his good angel always. The aroma of comfort filled every nook. The gas was shaded by a beautiful device that mellowed the light without de- stroying its splendor. Across the hall the door opened into a roomy, old-fashioned kitchen. The gas was bright there also, bringing into fine relief, against the rather dark paper of the wall, a fair woman, eatly dressed, who seemed superintending the studies of an overgrown boy. Slates and pencils, pens and papers, and school books were scattered over the table. “There, Joe, you 'll soon be a good writer," said the woman, smiling. “You improve so fast." " And I hope I may never forget to pay you back for your goodness some day." “Very well, Joe, I can wait,” says the sweet voice. And she turns away, seeing that there are tears in the eyes of the boy who came there uncouth, ignorant, and obstinate. Return we to the cosey sitting-room. “I am so thankful she ever came,' sumed Annita. “For two years she has been friend, counsellor, and, I will not say servant, though she does insist upon the word, all in one. Under her reign the kitchen is more like a parlor; and the meals—I de- clare she cooks poetry into them. Strange that she will be so reserved on the subject of her past life. She is a lady, thongh she tries so hard to be ungrammatical at times, and in a sense common-place. I'm glad she has no company, for I'm selfish enough to want her all to myself.” “Strange she is so exclusive in her no- tions," put in John. “Yes, that's the word,” clapped Annita, laughing; "she won't condescend to be one of us, not even to eat or to sit with us, though I've almost begged it. What good luck it was, John, that we got her; and if ever my brother should give us a slice of his fortune, she should leave that place and be our house- keeper. Wouldn't that be splendid! Ch, I keep forgetting you are writing an article. Read it when you're through." “By the way, Annita, I met Warren to- day, and he says Fletcher Chase is home.” “Why, bless me, you don't say!” cried the little woman, breathlessly. “My best nephew! for I do love himn best, if you did think him the most worldly fellow living. I always said there was the true stuff in him, and I'll warrant yon he's come home a man." At this moment appeared the overgrown boy. “Why, Joe, did anybody ring ?” “Yes'm," and Joe disappeared, but soon entered, again, followed by a bearded man, bronzed, and the handsomer for his travels. There were great cries of joy, kisses, and handshaking-a ring for refreshments, which the fair-looking woman brought in herself. She had unbound her hair previously, but had just tucked it back, here and there a stray curl falling. Another scene—the woman turned deadly white. Annita sprang up and recovered the tray. Fletcher Chase had nearly leaped the table, and now held the half-fainting woman in his arms. “Hannah, darling! did you dream how I AN ITEM FOR THE HOME CIRCLE.--POETRY. 53 ful treatment too often indulged in between those bound together by God's own ties of blood, and the most sacred bonds of conjugal love. 1. But was searching for you ? Hannah, my darling! my blessed darling!" “Why, I never,'' gasped Mrs. John, “knew that you two were acquainted. And did you know he was my nephew ?" “I did not know it,” said Hannah. Fletcher, you-you do not know!'- “Don't put me away, my darling. I do know-know that you are the noblest woman that ever crossed my path. Aunt Annita, this dear woman is my betrothed wife, and you see before you the happiest man in all this beautiful city.” WINTER ALL THE YEAR. BY NEALE BERNARD. Have I put it plain enough—for this is not all a fancy sketch-have I put it plain enough that you, earnest, pure, high-minded women, need not toil in cold attics, need not wear out precious eyesight, and more precious heart and brain, toiling on in unrequited labor ? No, woman need not be driven to crime, while there are thousands of happy homes in our land that would gladly welcome to their hearthstones those who are thrown upon the cold charities of the world, if they will only accept them, and feel that in the humblest labor there is no humiliation, no degradation in the smallest office done for Christ's sake. THOUGH I sing in merry measure, All the joy of other souls, Yet for me how little pleasure All my life controls; Though my songs gush mellow music, And their echo joy imparts, Still a sorrow seems abiding In my heart of hearts. Spring may come, delicious spring! With its bright capricious weather; Summer birds be on the wing, And flowers bloom on hill and heather; And the days be fair and pleasant, And the nights be bright and clear- Ah, I love the ever present Genial spring or autumn sere; But within my sud heart reigoeth Winter all the year. Summer too, all smiles and flowers, Will succeed the transient spring, And the earth be green and verbal, Sweet with bloom and blossoming; All be beautiful as Eden, Waiting Eve but to appear, To complete the land Elysian On this sin-begotten sphere: But, alas! for all thy beauties, Sweetest summer, life is drear; Yet my heart is strong in duty, Though 'tis winter all the year! Autumn russet, rich and golden, Follows blandly next in train, With her luscious fruits and acres Broad with ripe and yellow grain; Then, old Winter, stern and hoary, Rules in majesty austere, While the fireside joke and story Radiate a wholesome cheer; But a colder, sterner winter Glooms my soul in sorrow drear; For no tale of love or glory Glads my winter all the year. Though I sing in merry measure, All the joy of other souls, Yet for me how little pleasure All my life controls; Though my songs gush mellow music, And their echo joy imparts, Still a sorrow seems abiding In my heart of hearts. AN ITEM FOR THE HOME CIRCLE. SOMEBODY says, and truly, that there are few families anywhere in which love is not abused as furnishing the license for impoliteness. A husband, father, or brother will speak harsh words to those he loves best, simply because the secrecy of love and family pride keep him from getting his head broken. It is a shame that a man will speak more impolitely at times to his wife or sister than he would to any other woman, except a low, vicious one. It is thus that the honest affections of a man's nature prove to be a weaker protection to a woman in a family circle than the restraints of society, and that a woman is usually in- debted for the kindest politeness of life to those not belonging to her own household. These things ought not to be so. The man who, because it will not be resented, inflicts his spleen and bad temper upon those of his hearthstone, is a small coward and a very Kind words are circulating me- diums between true gentlemen and ladies at home, and no polish exhibited in society can atone for the harsh language and disrespect- mean man. CONTENTMENT.— Without content we shall find it almost as difficult to please others as ourselves. DRAWING LESSONS. A mynd um W um 54 A NEW YEAR'S AT THE CHINCHAS. BY S. A. EMERY. DECEMBER 31st, 185–. In accordance with the invitation received on the 26th, brother Frank and I were rowed over to her Majesty's frigate “Tribune," at seven o'clock this even- ing. We found everything cap-a-pie for the reception. We were conducted below to the theatre which had been fitted up between decks, making quite a commodious playhouse, with comfortable seats, a stage, orchestra, and footlights. The drop-scene was truly artistic, and the walls were decorated with the flags of all nations. St. George's cross, the Fleur- de-lis, flag of Peru, and the Stars and Stripes, being the most conspicuous, twined in grace- ful contiguity, a symbol, I trust, of the future union and amity of the nations which they represent. Most of the guests were assem- bled; nearly the whole of the commanders, and most of the ladies of the Chincha fleet. Señor Serrate and several of his deputies, and other dignitaries of the Peruvian Government. The ladies had honored the occasion with a splendor of toilet rarely seen in this region; there was the rustle of silk and satin, the flash of jewels, mists of snowy lace and mus- lin, the brilliance and perfume of flowers, and the fiutter of curls, plumes, and fans. The sober hues of the civilians were finely con- trasted on the part of the gentlemen with the glittering uniforms of the officers belonging to the four great nations represented by them. I was especially proud of the crew of our “John Adams.” The English officers are capital fel- lows, the French tres élégant, the Señores dignified and urbane, but certainly my own countrymen do not suffer by comparison, All by last arrival were seated, the band ceased playing, and the curtain rose for the first act in “Box and Cox." Those two re- doubtable gentlemen being represented by the first and second lieutenants, while two of the midshipmen enacted the landlady and her handmaiden Fanny. The aid of the ladies had been invoked to supply the wardrobe for these characters, and I am happy to affirm that they did the sex due credit, both in mien and apparel. The play went off with great eclat, and was followed by a comic song, and the Fisher's hornpipe; the evening's perform- ance being closed by the laughable farce of the “Widow Green." The theatricals over, the guests were escorted to the gun-deck, where a sumptuous entertainment was spread. The supper-room, like the theatre, was deco- rated with flags and streamers; the bright guns flashed back the effulgence from the glass and silver of the supper-table, which smoked with viands, and was loaded with the delicious fruits of this region. Oranges—and such oranges!—bananas, little cantaloup, called papinos, which dissolve in the mouth like sugar; paltos, a pear-shaped fruit, with a large, round, black stone, and the queen of delicacies, the delicious cherimayas. Supper over, dancing was proposed; but in expectation of the fatigue of the morrow's trip to the Ballistas, there was soon a general breaking up of the party. Frank and I were among the first to depart. Doctor H. would accompany us, directing his boat to follow. "He must look after his patient." .“Which ?" Frank queried. “ The lady at the ship, or the one by his side ?” Heigh-ho! What shall I do? The doctor is a superb man, good and talented. Can it be? Can I gather the fragments of a shattered heart, and bind them into a love gift for him? Can I leave kindred, friends, and native land, for the sake of the noble man who promises to supply their place? God knows; as yet I cannot say. O Walter, Walter, dead or alive, in this world or another, I am thine-thou art mine! Peace, peace, rebellious heart! They talk of resigna- tion, of expediency, and of the happiness of union. Well, we will see! God is above; He doeth all things well. Sister Auna, much to the discontent of the Peruvian nurse, had insisted upon sitting up for our return. The myriad little braids that ornament Doña Marsellas's head, reminding one of the serpents on that of Medusa, were fairly upstarting with indignation at this re- bellion from constituted authority. I ex- pected to see the friction match and bunch of cigarettas which, thrust above either ear, invariably adorn both sides of her cranium, ablaze with indignation. The appearance of the Señor Capitan and the doctor was the signal for the dispersion of the cloud; ama Marsellas displayed her white teeth, and 55 56 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. showed other charms to a remarkable degree, as she tossed up our three weeks old baby girl-our little Chincha. The doctor declares that “ I shall not use that possessive pronoun, that I have no part nor lot in her.” It is a great relief sometimes to have an object to playfully wrangle over. Anna was curious to hear every particular of the entertainment. The decorations, the play, the supper, and the belle of the evening, the lovely Miss from Salem, were duly discussed; the flirting propensities of old Captain -'s young wife sufficiently reprobated; Mrs. Smith's diamonds, Mrs. Jones's orange satin, Mrs. White's black lace and fuchsias, Mrs. Black's hoopless skirts and limp India maslin, were all thoroughly dilated upon, the doctor de- clared his mission ended, and took his leave. Hah! what is that? Oh, the Chincha's wel- come to the New Year. I must run upon deck. January 1st. Half an hour after midnight. Upon reaching the head of the companion- way, a unique and magnificent spectacle burst upon my eye. Mathews, a deputy on the middle island, had lighted a pile of tar bar- rels, and the blaze cast its lurid glare over the islands, the shipping, and far across the water. Cannons were booming from the three men-of-war, which were answered by every species of firearm from the merchantmen, the ship bells were clanging, rockets, blue lights, and other fireworks hissing and snapping, while, ever and anon, the notes of martial innsic from the three national vessels sounded above the din. Thus the Chinchas bade adieu to the hoary old year, and extended their wel- come to its new-born successor. Seldom is given to mortals to witness such a scene of enchantment. I questioned my own identity and the reality upon which my sight rested. Was I, Lora Atherton, really in the earth in my natural body, or had I been transported to the land of the genii and the sea- kings? Were these Neptune's gala halls, or a glimpse into Dante's Inferno? A glance in one direction suggested the first idea; another, the latter instinctively arose. Midway toward the three mountain-like islands with their dark, fearful, cavernous sides and outworks of rock and reef, over which the ever-thundering, ever-dashing surf glinted and sparkled in the weird, spectral glare that cast a supernal depth of light and shade over the guano-covered mounds, the bamboo huts of the residents, and the one hundred and fifty vessels moored about their base, the fairy-like craft rose and fell upon the long, upheaving swell, their masts and yards brilliant in the ruddy light, the white smoke wreathing from their sides, and the decks swarming with the joyous crews who rent the air with their shouts. Myriads of birds, startled by the unusual light in the clefts and crannies, wheeled aloft with uncertain motions and strange cries. The poor coolies, drawn from their huts by the clamor, the fitful blaze dancing over their wild, despairing faces and half-naked figures, looked fitting ministers of some horrible in- cantation. Gradually the din ceased, the fires burned low, and the bright stars alone shone over the Chinchas and the Chincha fleet. The sea, the islands, and the shipping passed into dim obscurity, and I returned to my state- room. But at this moment the cosey little apart- ment, with its curtained berth, neat carpet, and convenient bureau, is not half so neat to my mind's eye as the great kitchen of the large, square, unpainted farm-house of my childhood. Again I see the snowdrifts grow higher and higher before the big barn doors ; the sheep huddled together beneath the shed; the fat hogs, killed in the morning, hanging in the back porch a distended ghost with a cob in his mouth, waiting for dismemberment in the evening. The snow falls faster and faster; the haystacks beyond the corn-barn and the wood-pile at the door are transformed into pure white mounds. Jenny comes from milking, Anna, now the Señora of the “Sea Spray,” draws out the heavy “four foot” table and spreads the cloth. Mother, her face aglow from the bright logs in the wide fire- place, shakes the doughnuts she is frying, and, with an anxious lookout, “hopes father will be home soon, it is such a storm." I, the little Lora, the baby and pet, knit faster on the mitten, that must be finished as a sur- prise for the dear papa that New Year's eve- knit and drum my feet against the old settle upon which I am seated-drum a more noisy than musical accompaniment to a half chanted recitation of “The little girl and the kid." “Click, click” go the needles, “tap, tap" beat the little heels in perfect time to the re- frain :- "See, by the moonlight, 'Tis most mid ht; Time kid and I were home Hour and a half ago." 19 A NEW YEAR'S AT THE CHINCHAS. 57 With sup- There is a shout, “Who-hush, Bright! Gee-up, Star!” The high load of green logs darkens the casement, and the sled groans through the new snow. Jenny and Anna lurry the preparations for supper. The piece of baked meat and the pumpkin pies are drawn from the oven, the doughnuts and fried apple turnovers placed on the table, and the water is poured upon the tea in the obese black teapot, which is deposited on a little mound of embers in the corner, to steep. The twi- light deepens, a candle is lighted. There is a loud stamping of feet; the boys rush in, followed by father, brushing the snow from locks that as yet show none of the shows of age. He is greeted with a general glance of expectancy, for we all remember that the vil- lage store lies in the direct road from the wood-lot, and we well know that father never forgets a New Year's eve. Pater familias glances quizzically from the corner of his eye, and with sober taciturnity divests himself of overcoat and boots. A draught of cider hav- ing been imbibed from the brown mug that has been creaming this half hour between the andirons, he draws a deep breath, and as his feet are thrust into warm slippers, says, slowly: “Seems to me I've got a notion or two in my great-coat pockets; Lora, feel in them and see what you can find." The last stitch of the mitten had been bound off ten minutes previously-ten ages, almost bursting with suppressed eagerness. I spring forward and seized the heavy, moist garment. There is calico for mother and the girls, a comforter for Jack, a pair of skates for Ned, writing- books and pencils for the winter school which commences the next Monday, all hid in the capacious pockets, and last, but not least, a “span new" spelling-book for Lora, and a pair of bright red morocco shoes, “'e biggest beauties” ever seen upon her dancing feet. Next come other New Years: the great party at Deacon Ames's, where brother Jack found his city bride; the ball at the tavern the next year, where Anna first met Captain Frank Desmond; sister Jenny's wedding the New Year's after the one upon which brother Ned was ordained; the house warm- ing at the new parsonage, and the eloquent discourse the Sunday after, which, much to parents' and brothers' and sisters' pride, was printed at the request of the parish. Then follow the days when the shadow, that sooner or later must overcast every household, fell upon ours; the days when “Enoch was not, for God took him;" the days when it required all our faith to remember that the widow and fatherless are neither forgotten nor forsaken. The new, strange city home succeeds; the New Year's day which must be spent with our fashionable cousin, in her splendid man- sion. How I resisted and rebelled! Aunt Lora had decreed the visit-it must be paid. I was under her tutelage now, and, thougb at the mature age of "sweet sixteen," a mere child in the world's ways. With what awe I watched the elaborate preparations for the event: the new silk, the rich lace, and the cherry trimmings. My aunt detested black, I had worn mourning the customary period; that day it was to be cast aside. pressed impatience I permitted my long, thick locks to be plaited and looped up, in what I was obliged to confess a very becoming style, listening the while, as cousin Laura's fingers flew out and in among my heavy tresses, to a reconnting of what I might ex- pect as the day's experience. “Cousin Char- lotte will be languid and elegant; she will speak of last night's soriée—that you never could imagine the splendor of the appoint- ments, and the elegance of dress was incom- parable ; that Mrs. Green's jewels must have cost a thousand dollars if they did one cent; that Mrs. Red looked like a fairy, a perfect Undine-one was compelled to forget the re- cent scandal and all that, but as the waiting- maid was lacing her white satin slipp she could not for the life of her forget how she used to scramble around barefoot, in the woods where she was born ; that if you will mind your P's and Q's, very likely you will arrive at satin slippers and waiting maids. Then the children will rush in, and the racket will be perfectly deafening; James will ride the back of your chair, kick and shout, and Lotty will pull your braids, stick her fingers through your frill, and demand the loan of your bracelet. At two, Mr. Beech will bluster in, pinch your cheeks with the declaration that you are a sweet, ansophisticated country girl, just the one to make some fine young fellow a sensible little wife. Then you will be con- ducted to the dining-room, where you will be introduced to the elegant Walter, but you needn't quake at that, mon gintilhomme is altogether too exquisite to notice such a mid- get as you. Be sure and spread your napkin over your dress, and do not awkwardly spill 58 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. the water from the heavy glass goblets; but above all things, do remember not to eat with your knife; and do try to handle your silver fork a little less clumsily ; don't act as if you were afraid to touch it." Now I can laugh, as I recall the tremulous tones with which I besought my cousin to accompany me. "You know I can't. There, now, let me fasten your brooch-not that one, you are to wear my coral set. Well, I must say you do my skill as tire-woman credit. Look, ma, hav'n't I taken the “Down east” out of her?" Ma opined that I must hasten: twelve o'clock was the hour for my arrival. I must ring at Mrs. Beech's door at that particular moment. With what a palpitating heart I followed my aunt, as she threaded the thronged pave. I had not yet become sufficiently acquainted with the route to be trusted alone. My confu- sion was at its climax as we ascended the broad steps of the handsome portico. In sheer des- peration I whispered : “Please, aunt, don't ring; let me go back with you!" “Hush, child, you are invited; it is an honor; make yourself as agreeable as possi- ble. I will come for you in the evening." The bell gave a sonorous clang, the door opened, I was in the hall. O Aunt Lora, you little knew what you were doing! You sent me to spend the day with a relative; you turned the whole current of my life! The mingling of motherly tenderness and sisterly regard, that marked my cousin's re- ception, placed me at once at ease. Placing a low chair by the register, she drew another beside me, and commenced a familiar chat upon family affairs. The children whom I dreaded as so many little ogres soon ap- peared; a bright, pretty girl of eight, and a manly little fellow of ten years. Contrary to expectation, they were unusually well be- laved, doing all that they could for my en- tertainment in the display of their Christmas and New Year's gifts. Two o'clock struck; the hall door opened and shut with a clap; there was the tread of a firm, masculine foot, a stout, pleasant-faced man entered, and was introduced as Mr. Beech. A cordial greeting followed, but nothing of the boisterous jollity cousin Laura had taught me to expect. Won- dering whether her other prophecies would remain unfulilled, I followed my host to the dining-room. A tall, slight young man, with a pale complexion, and dark, spiritual eyes, turned from a window as we entered. “My husband's nephew, Mr. Beech, Miss Atherton,” said Cousin Charlotte, as she seated herself at the table and pointed me to a chair. Mr. Beech began to carve. Mr. Walter Beech took the seat opposite mine. The assurance that I was wholly beneath that last-named gentleman's notice set me com- pletely at ease, and I was enabled to get through the meal without any of the un- pleasant contretemps against which I had been so pathetically warned; but from the fartive glances I could not refain from stealing across to my vis-à-vis, I became conscious that I was far from being an object of unconcern to the young gentleman; and a feeling, partly of triumph, partly a new, strange joy, stole into my girlish heart. That morning dawned upon a free, careless child-heart, its evening closeå upon the first anxious, troublous bliss of open- ing womanhood. A year passed, a year of undimmed happi- ness-a happiness that ought to atone for much subsequent misery. What cared I for the minor troubles of life! My aunt might be arrogant, my cousin whimsical, the music- master might flourish his baton, and cry out at the false time; the drawing teacher might declaim at my horrible perspective; Monsieur might “sacre'' at my miserable mal-Yankee pronunciation—what was it all to me? My aunt might scold, and my cousin frown; I was far above them and their existence, dwell- ing in a golden dream, a higher sphere, a loftier, a more spiritual communion. How, in that year, my soul unfolded and expanded ! How rich, how glorious grew my life! How thankful, how blessed I was! How well I came to understand the words, “She gave much, beeause she loved much." But the year was over--another New Year's sun was high in the heavens; it glittered upon the betrothal ring upon my finger; it also whitened the sails of the ship that was bear- ing my betrothed far from me! Yes, for years he would become a denizen of India's sultry clime. Business required that, for a time, Calcutta should be his home. The idea of separation had been sad, inexpressi- bly sad ; but I was young, my education in- complete-it was right, and must be borne. The parting was over. I would be strong and hopeful, as Walter had bidden. There would A NEW YEAR'S AT THE CHINCHAS. 59 be the letter back by the pilot; in time others would come. I would work, I would improve- make myself worthy even of him. Time wore on, enlivened by a constant correspondence. 1 Walter did his work, I mine. Three years passed, then the missive came to announce that at the close of another twelvemonth the wanderer would return to claim his promised bride. How the busy weeks flew by! What hours and days of joyful expectancy were mine, as I industriously stitched on the abun- dant and elegant trousseau my kind friends provided ! At length everything was com- plete, excepting the wedding-dress, whose silvery sheen was hidden in my well-filled drawers. My lover was on his homeward pas- sage. One hundred days had elapsed since the ship had sailed-one hundred and ten- one hundred and twenty-how eagerly the “Telegraphed Below” was scanned in the morning and evening papers! My heart be- gan to beat irregularly; there were restless days and wakeful nights, nervous starts at every ring, flushes at every step. Still the days stole by-one hundred and thirty-one hundred and fifty-one hundred and seventy. People came and went with serious faces and subdued tones; still the days and weeks wore on, and thus the "Orient" passed into a miss- ing, then a lost ship. Still there was hope for the boats. I clung to that; I strove to be hopeful and patient; I strove to weep or to pray-I could do neither. As weeks wore on and hope became fainter and fainter, a dread apathy, which I vainly resisted, seized my whole being; body and soul were alike torpid. Oh, why could I not also die? Relatives and friends gathered around with well-meant kindness and consolation. They talked of fate, of decrees, of justice; of love, faith, and resignation; of a change of heart, the power of time, and the consolations of the gospel! It was as sound to the deaf, and light to the blind. I tried to listen, to com- prehend; tried to be patient and grateful. I knew that they meant well, but oh, if they would only let me be at peace. Perfect still- ness, perfect quiet was the only boon my soul had strength to crave. My mother, my dear mother, slie who had also passed through the deep waters, alone understood me. My sister Anna was about to be married and accompany her husband on his next voyage. Mother de- cided that I should go with them, as So earnestly desired. “Would I go? Could I not assist my sister? She was much hurried in her preparations ? Mother had touched the right chord. I was not naturally selfish. I rose from my couch; I thrust aside every thought, and plunged into a whirlwind of activity. “Anna should take my things-yes, no scruples; they were ready, time was pressing; when I needed such''-oh, the bitter, bitter grief that was crushed with the words, “she could repay me." It was useless to resist; for once every one gave way; I had my will. I sewed the wedding-dress that should have been mine. I arranged the bridal veil; twined the orange- blossoms in my sister's hair, and with a lip- pressure that made her start as from contact with a corpse, I clasped the pearls—his gift, about her snowy neck. With a strange, delirious sensation, a strange, icy clutch at my heart, I stood be- side my sister as she plighted her marriage vows. They wondered at my calmness, praised my fortitude and resignation. O God! Thou knowest, but Thou also hadst pity and mercy! Like one in a troubled nightmare, from which he vainly strives to arouse him- self, I was borne out upon the mighty deep. Days passed, still no change ; but as we ad- vanced over the waters, and the wide ocean began to reveal its majesty and its mystery, those icy hands began to relax, that icy clutch to yield. At length tears, blessed tears, came to my relief. Next arose a storm, a mighty, almost overwhelming tempest; aunid the howl. ing and screeching, the straining and snap- ping, the pitching and rolling, my benumbed soul shook off its shackles, and stood forth strong and clear, ready to bear and to do. Sunrise, January 1st. I have been aroused from my tardy slumbers by the booming of cannon; a national salute is being fired from the three men-of-war. “Hail Columbia' is wafted across the water from the band of the “ John Adams;" this is followed by “God Save the Queen" from the “Tribune;" then the French strike up the “Marseillaise." I listen at my tiny window-the bull's eye of my stateroom; listen, and recall the last night's, or rather this morning's, vision, the dream that has come now the third time, at a crisis in my life, since the commencement of this voyage. Again I see that now familiar phan- tom craft, that dark sea-worn whale ship. Again I see the resolute captain and stalwart 60 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. man crew, and again I see that dear familiar face, familiar, yet also strange. The slight, youth- ful figure has developed into the broad-chest- ed, strong-limbed man; the pale, dreamy face has become bronzed and firm. Yes, Doctor H., my resolution is taken; you will always be a friend, a dear, a very dear friend, but that must be all. I am sorry to pain so good a man, but he must see that this decision is for his happiness. I also dread the animad- versions of friends. Those nearest and dear- est will not trouble me with complaints; my mother and sisters will comprehend my mo- tives. For aunt Lora and the others, whose sum of life is comprehended in the one word expediency, I will nerve myself, try to show them that marriage need not be the sole object of a woman's life, and that there can be a good-natured, unwhimsical old maid. Anna's sweet tones are chiming forth a “Happy New Year, dear Lora." Frank is tapping at my door with a “Ho, for the Ballistas !" January 2d. At eight o'clock yesterday morning we set out for the store-ship, at the Middle Island, the designated rendezvous for the boats intending to join the Ballista expe- dition. Anna came upon deck to wish us a good voyage. Marsellas placed herself in her favorite seat on the rail forward, a position which has gained for her the sobriquet of the “figure head,” from the sailors. Her gaudy cotton gown flaunted gayly on the breeze, and the smoke from her cigaretta curled gracefully about the unique coiffure of her head. The mist that usually veils the morning in this region was slowly lifting; the sun came out over Pisco, bright and rosy, irradiating and permeating the wide view-emphatically the “High Seas." Since lying at the Chinchas I have been strongly impressed with the fitness of that phrase. A few boats were assembled at the place of appointment when we arrived. Down East shook hands with the sunny South. Massachusetts and Connecticut saluted New York and Maryland. England and France drew alongside of Brother Jonathan. Gay galutations, bright faces and good wishes were on every hand. The Chinchas are composed of a dull, red- dish and whitish rock, and guano lies upon the islands in high, smooth-rounded hills. These are bordered by huge, perpendicular, ochi colored cliffs, everywhere perforated by dark caverns into which the sea rolls with a deafening roar. These grottoes are the haunts of seals or sea-lions, and myriads of sea- birds. The cliffs are literally swarming with feathered life; multitudes, which no can number, are soaring, scaling, and diving above, upon and around the islands and rocks, filling the air with their strange, wild, un- earthly cries. In a shanty-like place on the North Island Señor Serrate holds his court. He is the principal personage with whom the captains have to deal. A guard-ship is stationed at this island with a commandant and a few soldiers. These soldiers are a great curiosity -funny little men, not over five feet high, with narrow chests, dark complexions, high cheeks, and Aztec noses, they always remind one of the boy soldiers of a country village, or the renowned Lilliputians of Gulliver. On this island is a cane hut, used as a hospital, and some other shed-like buildings, a grocery, cookery, carpenter-shop, etc., making a sort of tatterdemalion village, inhabited by an interpreter, physician, overseers, drivers, and cholo-women. The business of loading is mostly performed by cholos ; but the digging is done entirely by coolies, and a more pitiable set of wretches than these latter are not, I trust, to be found in God's universe. Most of these deluded victims are nearly naked ; none have more than enough rags to cover them. They are fed and housed worse than the beasts. They have no Sundays, no holidays, no home, no wives, no children; nothing to mitigate their endless, hopeless toil. Before them stretches the bright bay, with its green shores and graceful fleet, myriads of sail coming and going, and the sublime mountains towering in the far distance. Little wonder that almost every day more or less commit suicide by leaping from the cliffs. These blue, upheaving waves, and glinting, snowy surf must be so enticing to their sore and weary frames. Each coolie is required to dig and wheel five tons of guano a day; their slender figures quiver under the weight of the loads. Little do our farmers realize the trouble and labor, the heart-sickness and sorrow with which this fertilizer is procured for the enrichment of their quiet, fruitful fields. Truly, in the sweat of our brow do we eat our bread. The market boat having arrived from Pisco, and the fresh mackerel brought for the chow- A NEW YEAR'S AT THE CHINCHAS. 61 der, our messieurs de cuisine declared them- selves in readiness. The French band struck up “Yankee Doodle," and the flotilla began to move under the commodore of the fleet, an honor assigned to the senior captain. It was a stirring spectacle, those two dozen boats, gay with flags and the bright ribbons of the ladies, while the naval uniforms of the officers formed a pleasing contrast to the blue shirts, white trowsers, and wide tarpaulins of the marines, and the spruce Sunday attire of the tars of the merchantmen, all of whom bent to their oars with a cheerfulness and zeal befit- ting the occasion. The Ballistas, to which our New Year's party were bound, are a group of islands lying to the southward, and of a similar form- ation to the Chinchas. A pull of eight miles brought us to this ocean fastness, this mighty citadel of the sea. Would that I could de- scribe the scene, a scene which pen and pencil must ever prove wholly inadequate to depict. Nature here asserts her supremacy; man is compelled to confess his weakness, his insignificance. Huge, unscalable bastions ; lofty, precipitous steeps; high, dark, drip- ping ledges, pierced with cavern above cav- ern, immense inapproachable recesses into which the winds and the waves, the surf and the spray, rush and roar, whirl and eddy, thunder and dash. Mysterious grottoes that must ever remain veiled to mortal ken, from which issue the wild notes of myriads on myriads of sea-birds, mingled with the hoarse cries of penguins and the dread roar of sea- lions. Black, huge, fearful-fitting fortress for the domain of Eolas; yet, with their gar- niture of shells and mosses, their fretwork of rock and spray, gorgeous enough for the dwelling of Amphitrite. We rowed along the face of the perpendicu- lar cliffs in vain search of a landing-place; thence our pilot led us into an arch more than a hundred feet through, but so narrow that the men were obliged to ship their oars, and the force of the waves were such that the boats were sucked in and out like mere toys. This passage effected, we came to a narrow beach, covered with huge pebbles, where, after mach difficulty, as it was necessary to take advantage of the advancing wave, we were enabled to land. The rocky platform scarcely gave standing room to the party, which began to clamber up the steep ascent, while the stewards brought wood from the boats, and, having lighted a fire, began the concoction of the chowder, one of the great features of the day. The utensils and cushions having been brought from the boats, dinner was served in fine style. Rarely has old Oceanus witnessed such a feast. Chowder, turtle soup-turtles are so plenty that they cease to be a luxury at the islands—cold beef, ham, tongue, pies, puddings, confections, fruit, tea, coffee, wine, ale, and beer were in abundance. The sea air induces a wonderful appetite ; it is truly astonishing how voracious one becomes at the Chinchas. Due justice having been done the viands, and due praise awarded our purveyors, the gentlemen lighted their cigars and took their fowling-pieces, and the ladies scattered over the rocks in search of shells and mosses, sea- soning the ramble, or rather scramble, with a discussion of the last evening's festivities. Mrs. White, au fait in such lore, discoursed eloquently upon lace and jewels, silk and satin. Mrs. Black, the heroine of the hoop- less skirts and unstarched muslin, tartly in- terrupted her by a diatribe on the extrava- gance displayed by her sister nereids. "Little wonder there was such a call for 'Seaman's Homes,' and 'Sailor's Snug Har- bors,' with so much needless, useless expen- diture on the part of the wives and daughters of seafaring men.” Pretty Mrs. pouted, and twirled her cherry ribbons; the Salem belle looked proud disdain; the Maryland lady thought that as the fête was given by the English officers for our pleasure, we were in duty bound to ren- der ourselves as agreeable as possible. Mrs. Black turned a cold shoulder to her oppo. nents, muttering something about pride and impudence. Tired of the clatter of my companions, I strolled over to the windward end of the island, and sat down upon the edge of a cliff more than three hundred feet above the water. Beneath yawned a stupendous cave, into which the sea thundered and roared; oppo- site was another cavern, with a still higher arch, into which the sea rolled with terrific violence, and a heavy, angry boom. Far below stretched a narrow, white sand beach, upon which lay scattered the bones of sea- fowl, and the skeletons of a couple of sea- lions, their ghastly skulls looming up ghost- like upon the beholder. In the little basins 1 62 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. along the edge of the rocks, the tiny mariners, familiarly known as the “Portuguese men-of- war,” were reefing and unreefing their mimic crafts; the white sand glittered in the sun- light, which reflected in the showers of spray that fell in jewelled cascades upon the gray rocks. The whole face of the cliff was bril- liant with mosses of the most beautiful dyes, scarlet, crimson, purple, and a variety of greens, among which were strewn myriads of bright-hued anellides, and the most delicately tinted and exquisitely-shaped mollusks. Un. derneath, in the crannies of the precipice, a couple of penguins were sitting on their nests, and the air was literally alive with every species of sea-birds, rending the air with loud, sharp cries, or low, mournful wails. Beyond rose other cliffs, and other caverns, with their fringes of feathery surf; around stretched the bright blue sea, radiant in the sunshine, the great rolling waves glitteripg and spark- ling as they rose and fell with that long slow swell that seems the pulsation of a universe. Blowing and swimming about among the weird grottoes were numberless seal, and schools of sea-lions. I cannot conceive of anything more horrible than these sea-lions. Huge monsters, with round, earless heads, enormous fangs, cat-like whiskers, and great glaring eyes, half fish, half beast, they seem altogether beyond the human. It is enough to make one shudder as they spring up to- wards you, with their great saucer eyes, fero- cious, yet agonized expression, loud sobbing breathings, and melancholy wailing cries. Up and down, in and out, voracious, hideous, terrible, perfect demons of the sea-if they had voice, what might they not utter, what secrets disclose, what treasures unfold? Long I gazed at the new, the wonderful Wonderful and glorious, terrible, yet sublime. Gazed and thought of the ages and ages that this ocean fortress has uplifted its battlements, in their grand solitude, to the warfare of the elements. Century after cen- tury have the waves beat their base, dashed up the stupendous steeps and thundered amidst the sounding caves. By sunlight, by star- light, in the silvery sheen of night's bright queen, while the earth has been upheaved from its foundations, and all the powers of the universe shaken, they have stood calm, fixed, impregnable; a type of the power, the majesty, the mystery, and the beanty of the Eternal. I gazed, while imagination pictured long arrows of moonlight striking athwart the dripping rocks and sparkling in the silvery surf, and mermaids coming from the shell- enamelled grottoes, to comb their tresses in the bright rays, or sport with their sister sirens of old Neptune's court. The gallant Asopus, the lovely Galatæa, Tethys with all her attendant Oceanides, Oceanus, hoary and majestic, and the great sea monarch, in his dolphin-drawn car; a merry carnival of the water gods, a high festival of the sea. I was drawn down to present realities by the hur- ried tones of Frank and Doctor H. “I must come with them, they had dis- covered a most wonderful, a most magnificent cave. It could not be entered by a boat, the surf was too high, but if I would trust myself to them they would bear me over the rocks.” Scarcely understanding where I was going, I followed my conductors down the steep de- clivity to the edge of the waves. Crossing their arms, as children play arm-chair, they bade me seat myself. Bewildered, almost stunned, I obeyed, and was borne over the slippery rocks. The waves were so strong that the receding point was the only time. when progress could be made. Waiting for the rushing current, then jumping to another foothold, there to wait for the next backward : wave, we made our way into a vast cavern, a lofty, spacious chamber with an immense groined and fretted arch. Wading waist deep in water, my gallants placed me upon the only standing-room in the cave, a sort of pul- pit, that apreared its fantastic columns nearly in the centre. Why is it that, in every great collection of caves, there is always one compartment to shadow forth the idea of worship? Has the great Architect thus set his seal upon the sanctuary, mirroring it forth amongst the grandest of his works ? Hand in hand, with hushed pulsations and suppressed breath, we three stood and gazed at the fairy-like, yet sublime and awe-inspiring scene. Above and around rose pillar and architrave, arch, dome, niche, and pedestal. From base to summit every inch of the jagged walls was crusted with marine life. Tritons, starfish, harp- shells, ear-shells, and marine snails of every variety, while from every fretted point and groined arch depended myriads of volutes, and wing-shells of the most beautiful forms; adding still more of interest was delicate tracery, amid which the exquisite " pelican- scene. A NEW YEAR'S AT THE CHINCHAS. 63 foot strombus” was particularly conspicuous. How beautiful are all of God's works! How nuh loveliness lies hidden from every eye except his own! The waves dashed in at the opening with a roar that drowned all other sounds, and ever and anon one higher than the others completely closed the orifice, leav- ing us in a solemn twilight that rendered the scene still more impressive. It was impossible to note time in such a spot. We were recalled to the outer world by our fear-stricken companions, who from our long absence had imagined the worst. After a vain attempt of a part of the party to enter in a boat, which ended in their complete drenching, we turned from the mysterious depths, and joined the group upon the beech, who had seated themselves to watch the pen- guins roll over in the water. These penguins are especially diverting. From the various islands they select some for their own indi- vidual property, which they are permitted by the other birds to hold in undisputed pos- session. They are from two to three feet high, with dark backs and white breasts, and they range themselves on the edges of cliffs, looking for all the world like so many children in white aprons. The Peruvian cognomen of “munos,” baby-bird, is very appropriate. As the afternoon wore on the sky became fairly darkened with pelicans soaring in long lines and circles to and from the ocean. Multitudes lighted on the rocks, far and near, where they stood, as in solemn conclave,/reminding one of a company of graybeards settling the affairs of a nation; or, as one of our captains affirmed, a party of spirit-rappers rapping out eternity. Doctor H. was wicked enough to compare them to a party of old women gossiping over their tea, while our beauty, tell it not in Gath, declared they recalled nothing so much as a certain meddlesome spinster of her na- tive town. Evening approached, and it was declared time to think of our return. The “paraca" had set in; the ocean swell had been increas- ing for some hours, and the surf now dashed with tremendous force over the rocks, and surged and thundered within the immense hollows. All aboard ! Impromptu sails, in the shape of table-cloths, were rigged to catch the afternoon breeze, and we went cheerily forward. The sun was slowly sinking, and as we passed the long gigantic line of volcanic crags and cliffs, the lights and shades were indescribably splendid ; rowing up the bay, the scene grew absolutely enchanting. Amber and amethyst, topaz and ruby, mingled with neu- tral grays and sombre black. Afar stretched the azure expanse, barred by dancing streams of golden light. Earth displayed fantastic islands, with their wreaths of sparkling foam, the stately fleet and other sail coming and going, the green outline of Pisco, and above all, towering far toward the zenith, in their own clime the sublime guardians of the sea, the majestic Andes, their glaciered side 9 roseate in the sunset. The surf around the north island was par- ticularly fine, where some of the detached rocks to the seaward are remarkable both in size and conformation. One of these rocks is singularly picturesque, and always strikes the eye of a new comer. It consists of two craggy arches crossing each other, and joined together at the apex so as to form a natural temple, with four equidistant pillars. The summit of the alcove is usually tenanted by an assembly of peli- cans, evidently in solemn conclave. Fully absorbed by the grandeur and beauty of the scene, I scarcely heed our progress, or the hail that comes to us across the water. The boat's course is suddenly changed, there is a clamor of voices. Am I awake or dreaming ! Before me, vast and dark, rises the phantom slıip of my vision—that sea-worn whale ship. There is the stalwart captain, the hardy crew, and-yes, I am not mistaken-over the side comes that dear, familiar face, older and bronzed, but still the same, and in another instant I am in the arms of my long-lost, long- mourned Walter. I have an indistinct idea of a rapid expla- nation. Two years before, he and three others had been picked up from one of the boats of the wrecked “Orient,” by this whale ship, then on her way to cruise in the Arctic seas. Then comes a mazy recollection of our pro- gress forward amidst deafening cheers, while the band plays “Hail to the Chief and Haste to the Wedding." It was hours afterward, when I listened to the details of that sad story of death, suffering, and deliver- ance, that I began to realize the actuality of what had occurred; even now I can scarcely realize that it is not all a vision. Anna's matter-of-fact voice in the after cabin reas- sures me. Another surprise was in store. Amongst 64 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Lord's ways are not our ways; to Him be the glory! My dear, dear Lora! my bride, my wife!" "Sister, sister!” Anna's tones are both imperative and impatient. Passing out we enter the forward cabin. Frank and Dr. H. stand aside to let us pass. To the right sits Miss Clara Bascom, with little Chincha on her lap; Marsellas grins delight in the background. Anna looks up from the heap of silk and lace by which she is half hidden, with the exclamation :- “Everything is arranged. The chaplain of the “John Adams" is to perform the cere- mony. You are to be married “Twelfth- day," early in the morning; then you will take a bridal trip to Lima." " Whether I will or not?” “Yes, mademoiselle, 'whether you will or al 20.': BY THE MILL. (Translated from the German.) BY MISS ROSALINE BENEDICT. yesterday's arrivals was a dear friend who accompanied her father on his voyage hither. She and Anna have constituted themselves a committee of ways and means. Anna is say- ing:- “Lora must wear the dress that was bought for her bridal; you know she made me take it when I was married ; but I only wore it that brief hour. The veil and pearls are in that box; we must send to Callao for white kids and orange blossoms." “I had a box of white kids given me in London, and as Lora and I wear the same size, I can supply the gloves," replies our friend. Yes, dear Clara, our hands are alike, and the personal resemblance is such between us that strangers often take us for sisters. Doctor H. was immediately struck with the likeness. Dear friend, how wholly unselfish his con- gratulations have been; would that Clara might comfort him for his disappointment. Perhaps she may; but I have no faith in made matches, so I shall hold my peace. A firm step is on the threshold, a brown face peers in at the half open door. “May I come in ?" “No, I am coming out." A toil-hardened hand is out-stretched, and grasps the loose sheets. “ A journal! I may read this?" “Yes, no—some day.” The sunny but thoughtful eyes look down into mine! for a moment both search, each the other's soul with a serious, questioning glance. “Lora, your Adonis has become a weather- battered old salt." " I like him none the less." “You don't? And you have changed; the little girl I left must be treasured among other sweet memories of the past; Lora the woman is quite a different being." “Do you regret the change?" “Far from it! The Lora I left behind was my darling, my sweet little love; the Lora I fiud, is my companion, my help-meet, em- phatically my better-half." Again there is a silence, while hand clasps hand with that mute eloquence that speaks 50 much more than any lip utterance. I raise my eyes to those that sink so deep within my own. “Walter, it is good for us that we have been afflicted." The low, humble, solemn tones reply: “The From the old gray mill by the river side, I look o'er the flooded plains, For the mountain streams, that come foaming down, Are swelled by the autumn rains. A long bright ray from the fading west Has fired the high church panes ; And the sullen land looks drearier still, While the little light remains. Yon stood by my side in a summer gone, And gazed o'er the landscape fair, In the golden gleam of the dying day That lighted the coils of your hair. While the great mill wheels sent showers of spray That sped on in a dancing rill; But the glad sweet waters of life, for you, Like the well-worn wheels are still. The merry rivulet at my feet Runs on in a gleesome flow, Like the ripple of laughter, low and sweet, In the days of the long-ago. And the splendor of sunset fades and dies In the twilight cold and gray, As the visions that gladdened our hopeful eyes Forever have passed away. For a peaceful rest I have sought in vain, But the coming days with their change Will give me a quiet I have not found In the years so sad and strange. A rest by your side in the graveyard green, O'erlooking the gray old mill, When the storm-tossed waters of life for me Like its well-worn wheels are still. THE BEDS OF THE ROMANS,- POETRY. 65 THE BEDS OF THE ROMANS. The beds of the Romans in the early days of the Republic were of tbe same description as those used in Greece; but towards the end of it, and during the Empire, when Italy acquired a taste for the luxuries of Asia, the richness and magnificence of the beds of wealthy Romans far exceed those used by the Greeks, splendid though they were. There was scarcely any difference between the sleeping beds of the ancients and their couches, except that the latter, being made for appearance as well as for comfort, were more beautiful and costly than the former. There were usually three persons to one bed or couch, the middle place in which was considered to be the most honorable. These beds were unknown before the second Punic war. Until then the Romans sat down to eat on plain wooden benches, after the manner of the heroes of Homer, and, as Varro says, the Lacedæmonians and Cre- tans. Scipio Africanus is said to have first brought from Carthage some of the little beds called Panicani or Archaia, which were very low, made of wood, stuffed with straw or the like, and covered with the skins of sheep or goats. The comfort of these beds differs little from that of the wooden benches which they supplanted; but with them came the fashion among men of reclining instead of sitting at meals. The Roman ladies modestly adhered to the old custom during the time of the Com- monwealth; but after the period of the first Cæsars they, too, ate on their beds. Before the youth put on his toga virilis he was kept to the ancient rule as to seats; and when he was admitted to table, he sat on the edge of the beds of his relatives. Suetonius tells us that the young Cæsars, Cains and Lucius, did not eat at the table of Augustus, but they were set in imo loco, or, as Tacitus says, ad lecti ful- cra. From the simple pieces of furniture which we have above described, the dining-beds of the Romans were elaborated into most mag- nificent articles of decoration. Pliny tells us that they were sometimes covered with plates of silver, and adorned with the softest of mats and the richest of counterpanes. Sampridius says that Heliogabalas had beds of solid sil- ver; and Pompey, on his third triumph, in- troduced beds of gold. The sleeping-bed of the Romans was generally rather high, so that persons entered it by means of steps. The bedstead was sometimes made of metal, and VOL. IXXIV.-5 at others of valuable wood, or veneered with ivory or tortoise shell; and frequently it rested on feet of silver or gold. The horizontal sideposts were connected by girths or strings, upon which the mattress or bed rested. In beds intended to be used by two persons, the sides were distinguished by different names ; the side at which the sleepers entered was open, and was called sponda; the other side was protected by a board, and was called pluteas. The sides of such a bed had two names-torus exterior and torus interior, or sponda exterior and sponda interior-froni which expressions we may infer that two beds or mattresses were used, one for each person. The mattresses were, in early times, filled with dried herbs or straw ; but in later times the beds and pillows of the wealthy Romans were composed of wool, and still later of feathers. Those of the inns were stuffed with the soft down of reeds, as Pliny tells us. The blankets or counterpanes and pillow-casings used by the upper classes were of a most rich description, and mostly of a purple color, and embroidered with gold. Bed-coverings of this kind were called peripetasmata Attalica, be- cause they were first used at the court of Attalus. It seems doubtful whether curtains or canopies were used in lectus cubicularis, but probably they were occasionally employed. A WREATH FOR BELLE'S ALBUM. BY LEUMAS. I'd twine a wreath, dear Belle, for thee, A wreath of flowers rare ; Will you accept the gift of me, And ever hold it dear? Conspicuous in this wreath I'd place A Violet pure and white, The Moss-rose with its lovely grace, The Almond, star of night. The Clematis, bright flower, should be Within this wreath so green; Japonica and Holly-tree Should side by side be seen. A Pink, and Red rose-bud I'd twine Together in this wreath ; And next I'd place the Jessamnine, The Daisy underneath. The Lily I would not forget; Geraniums--they should be of various kinds, the bright Scarlet, Oak, Lemon-all for thee. And when long years are passed and gone, And other friends you sec; Will you this little wreath adora With Cedar green for me? OVER THE WAY. BY SOPHIE DE LA MATER. So they are coming at last, our long ex- pected neighbors over the way. The architect has taken a final and satisfactory view of the mansion, and the workmen have gone else- where with their trowels and hammers, their laughter and merry songs. Even the arrival of furniture no longer attracts the attention of passers-by; the servants are in their places, and the house is, as they say, "settled ;'' the gates are closed, and little marauders from the street find a bar to their successful forays among the tempting fruits and flowers that all the summer long have been an easy prey to their juvenile rapacity. Very much changed, too, is the old place since the good general's time. The stately house, with its clinging vines, its sheltering forest trees, and its thrifty, old-fashioned gardens, seemed good enough, and grand enough, we thought, for anybody ; but not so the young people for whom all these modern improvements have been made. Nor is it strange. Their eyes did not watch the ivy as it crept from window to window up to the roof, till, from foundation to chimney-top, no stone was visi- ble from beneath the leafy screen; nor were theirs the hands that tenderly cherished the prairie roses that used to wind so lovingly, with their mosaic of green and red of every shade, around the pillars of the low-roofed porch. So the vine was rent from its grasp on the south wall, that a conservatory, gor- geous with tropical plants, might be projected from that side, and marble columns with their daintily carved capitals need no twining roses to make them beautiful. If the good general could come back, would he know the old house so metamorphosed by its bay windows, its tower, its ornate cornices, and pediments ? But the general will not come back. He has gone to a far country. I remember when, for the last time, he passed out from the door that would never again open to welcome him, as with no kindly heart-warm handshake for his neighbors, no loving eye for all the scarlet and golden splendors of the autunn, shedding such glory on the fine old trees that waved a parting adieu as he went forth all unaware of the sad cortege that followed him. And, though no relative of his, the sorrow of my heart surged to my eyes at the thought that his stalwart form and grand, gray head would never again be seen in the home he loved so well. Perhaps some indifferent spectator felt like asking me the little boy's question, “What are you crying for? It's none of your funeral.” But I am not so sure of that. Many years ago I, too, had a great sorrow, and never since do I go to the house of mourn- ing without seeming again to live over that scene. Is it not so? When we go to weep with our friends, do we not again bury our own dead? I think so. Not long since I attended the funeral of a child, as beautiful a "mother's darling” as ever made glad a household, which Death had seized with grasp so sudden that wonder had hardly as yet given place to a full belief in the sad reality. Even the sweet baby, as it reposed with its fair curls straying over tho round cheek, fresh rosebuds in its dimpled hands, and one foot shoeless and stockingless escaped from the folds of its delicate white skirt, as if in the restlessness of a natural sleep, gave little confirmation of the inex- orable truth, that the love that once lighted the clear depths of those blue eyes had re- turned to its Infinite Source, no more to cheer the broken mother-heart, and that, from the sweet lips, the kisses were all gone away forever. Ah, me! if sympathy could have availed there was no lack of it. Tears, abun- dant and spontaneous were shed, and, glanc- ing through my own, I could not but note that of those who wept so sadly and silently nearly all were mothers; and, of these, few there were who had not, away down in their hearts, a “holy of holies,” a sacred shrine, where, before an image that mortal eyes might never more behold, they were wont, in silence and in darkness, to prostrate ineir souls in anguish uuspeakable ! But I shall never get on with what I have to say in this discursive way, for I was going to tell how, old General Barton being dead, and his good wife too feeble in health to live alone in the great house, and gone to find a home with a married daughter in a distant State, the place over the way was sold, and passed into the hands of strangers-the young 66 OVER THE WAY. 67 people who, having made a long wedding tour, were about to take possession of the new home which for months had been suffer- ing the process of being modernized for their use, and to-day was that fixed by rumor for their arrival. I may as well premise, for fear that the discerning reader may fail to perceive it un- assisted by my suggestion, that I have ever considered it my specialité in life to “mind my own business," and that I pride myself on having arrived at a moderate degree of success in that particular vocation. But to- day, if curiosity should seem to be a little in the ascendant, I ask if it is not somewhat excusable, in consideration of the fact that these people are to be my neighbors, and that I have no small interest in learning what man- nerof persons they may be. They are, in short, to constitute henceforth a part of my life. I cannot look from my windows without seeing them, or something connected with them. Whatever they may be, I must at least extend to them certain courtesies, and should they prove congenial, perhaps we may be warm friends, ready at all times, in sickness or in health, in prosperity or adversity, to exchange the kind offices of friendship. But we shall see how that will be; and meantime, as I sit at my window with book in hand, I am sure that it can be no harm to take an occasional observation of the house over the way. It is a charming September day. The sum- mer had not, in all her store, more azure skies, more golden sunshine, or more exul- berant and vivid verdure than that which adorns this peerless morning of early autumn. “· Happy is the bride on whom the sun shines." May this one prove no exception ! Doubtless a loving mother, and an indulgent father, perhaps brothers and sisters, are miss- ing her sadly in the home she has left, and following her with many prayers and anxious wishes to her new and untried one. mises fairly ; but who can tell ? Time only. I can see many things from my window as I glance up and down the street. It is long and straight; on either side a low ridge that seems to have been indicated by nature as the fitting site for building, so that all the houses are nearly at a uniform distance from it. The well-shorn lawns are rolled till they show like three-piled velvet; and the trees, though numerous enough for beauty and for shade, are placed in groups that leave suffi- cient vistas for the eye; while the shrubbery is not so dense as to intercept a wide sweep of view in every direction. So, with my work, or even a book in my hand, I do not become so absorbed or so abstracted but that I make many an observation in human nature by an occasional glance at the ever-changing current of life as it surges through the popu- lous avenue. Every day I see the beautiful Anne Fairleigh, robed like an empress, her carriage irreproachable in taste, with its high- stepping and fleet-footed bays, and liveried coachman perched aloft; but can I help won- dering why she always rides alone ? Does not her husband love her that he is never seen in her company ? Fair Rosa Bell trots briskly by on her brown palfrey, with flowing skirt and joyous winning face, and above it a bewildering hat, the "Windsor casquette," I think they call it, and such a plume on it; and can I be surprised that her happy attend- ant squire, young Alfred Caldbugh, is so "taken,” that he does not know whether he is “in the body or out of it ?” I see Lizzie Scrymgeour walking miles and miles with Andrew Armitage, whose health requires a daily “constitutional," and do I think she has an eye to the bullion in a cer- tain strong box, to city lots, and blocks of houses ? On the contrary, I believe she likes his very good company, and if she takes no- thing more by the motion, she takes at least some long and salutary walks. Here I see a poor woman clothed in widow's weeds, whose pale face speaks of a sorrow that "passeth show," and there are deeper lines that tell of corroding care and ceaseless anxiety. There are want and penury at home, I fear. She looks up at me in an ab- sent, hopeless way. Perhaps she is thinking, “There sits a proud woman at her window." She reads not rightly, then. If I could do as I would like, how fleetly would I hurry to the street and say, “My sister, art thou very sad ? Can I do aught to help thee?" But “what would Mrs. Grundy say,” and a greater than Mrs. Grundy, namely, Monsieur Le Mari, the master of the house! I know what he would say. “ Alice, my dear, how often must I caution you against yielding to your impulses? Dispose your charities in a suitable manner, but do not make yourself conspicuous by this abrupt way of proceeding." So I extinguish the inconsiderate prompting, and my poor widow goes on her way. It pro- 68 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Hardly less to be pitied is poor Mrs. Gold- thwaite, poor, though rich. Persian shawls and Lyons velvets cannot disguise it. They are put on as if there was no heart in the work. You have a bad husband at home, I know it. Ah, specious Mr. Goldthwaite, your cunning speech and courteous manner with the outside world do not blind me. You are too sweet by half; your smile is as false as your teeth, and a more remorseless despot in the privacy of the domestic circle does not exist. I have observed a thing or two, and I know, by the eyes that seein to be looking for pity, and finding none in earth or heaven, by the fixed, hopeless mouth, and the heavy, inelastic step, that it is no happy home from which she comes or to which she returns. There is a sweetness, a look of trust, a rest and perfect peace in the face, however plain, of the woman who is sure of one heart that loves her truly, that no other feeling can inspire. But I have strayed from my young people again. There are signs of life over the way. The housekeeper has thrown open the hall- door, and set the window-shutters of the drawing-room a little ajar, just enough to admit a cheerful light, but not too much. A black boy, dressed in white from top to toe, stands at the carriage gates ready to open them, and evidently something is going to happen. We have not long to wait, for a car- riage, followed by a baggage wagon, rapidly whirls from the dusty street into the shady lane, and, more quickly than I can write it, a gentleman descends-and another gentle- man, and then a lady, the bride, of course, springs lightly into the outstretched arms of one of them, the stouter of the two, and doubtless her husband ; and they go up the steps, followed by a tall, slender youth, who perhaps may be her brother. Very ladylike the bride looks too, and “so stylish,” as Madame Moire would say. The husband is a nice-looking man, a little older apparently than the bride ; but a little difference is not amiss when it is on the right side, and these robust men always look “more elder”' than their years. Very handsome, too, is the youth with the thick brown curls; a new beau in our city, and such a beau! Fancy the fluttering of susceptible hearts when the news transpires ! I find great happiness and solace in my books. I pay my annual tribute to society by a jam, and a supper to my dear “five hundred," and punctual observance to "the rites,” by keeping an exact balance of debt and credit on my visiting list. But I am happiest when I can gather around me a few friends whom I love, or when, having made my daily round of inspection from attic to basement, and ascer- tained that the domestic machine is in per- fect running order, not a screw loose, with care-free heart and mind I can hie away to my quiet library, and, within its retired and hallowed precincts, explore the rich treasure- house of the old languages, or revel in the fruitful gardens of modern literature. But there is a little work in that, and however pleasant it may be, there are hours when I like best, with some bright and cheerful book, to flit up to the dearest nook in all the world, my own pleasant room, that undisputed realm where “I am monarch of all I survey.” With a sense of aesthetic enjoyment I part the win- dow draperies, and adjust myself at ease in my capacious chair, where if sometimes I look out upon the street, or up into the sky, it does not interrupt the zest with which I resume my reading. But my thoughts and eyes stray to thie house over the way much more frequently than I care to have them. I look at it as I would at a favorite and beautiful picture, sure always of seeing something cheerful and in- teresting. It is good to have so bright an object within one's range of vision. Mr. Isham, like a good husband and staid citizen, goes in the morning to his business, returning at five to dine. Meantime, pretty Mrs. Isham goes out among the trees and flowers, or chirps gayly to the pet birds that swing all day long in the shade of the veranda. If sometimes thoughts of other gardens, and other flowers far away, float across memory's mirror, they cast no shadow on her fair young face, as she goes flitting in and out in the sunshine, a humming-bird for airiness and grace. Then she can hardly feel alone, even in the absence of her husband, for her good brother comes and goes-never long away, and always so kind, so attentive, and so tender. Their mutual affection is beautiful to behold. This morning I saw him lift her so lightly from the grass, where she was going for some flowers of the scarlet geranium, and set her back upon the dry gravel walk, just I am a dear lover of nome, and in the fre- quert professional absences of Judge Le Mari, OVER THE WAY. 69 in time to save from irretrievable ruin the dainty blue rosettes of her slippers, and I smiled behind my curtain to see the comical surprise that came over her face at this un- expected retrograde. But he hastened to make reparation by gathering for her a pro- fusion of the brightest blossoms of the par- terre. Always he seems to have a fraternal care and foresight in shielding her from every possible harm. A good brother is indeed a good thing. One wonders, sometimes, how she finds time to make those marvellous and trium- phant toilets in which she appears before dinner. Cinderella's godmother, I think, must be her mistress of the robes, and Titania her dressing-maid. I have been in doubt sometimes which best become her, the high rouleaux, the heavy silks, and the dignity which she sometimes wears, or the diapha- nous muslins and tissues, the fair curls, and the blue or rose-colored ribbons in which she looks so charming and fairy-like. I should give my suffrages promptly for gossamer and flowing chevelure, only that, when good Mr. Isham comes home, these youthful graces do not seem to match so well with his maturer figure and quiet ways, and so I declare for moiré antiques, and coiffure à l'impératrice. A clear, pleasant voice she has, and, like Bel- phæbe- “When she spake, Sweet words, like dropping honey, she did shed, And 'twixt the pearls and rubies softly brake, A silvery sound that heavenly music seemed to make." She spoke of the new home that she was learn- ing to love so much ; of the courtesies that had been so kindly shown her; and then of the dear home and friends that she had left, and from whom it would have been so hard to part if she had not the very best husband in the world. “But you have not left all of home at home,” I said, "since you are so happy as still *o have the society of your brother." "I have no brother," she replied ; “but perhaps you mean Cousin Fred. It is indeed very pleasant for me, and for Mr. Isham, too, that we have him here, and we hope to keep him for a long time. He is connected in busi- ness with my husband.” I did not say, what perhaps I thought, that such a very handsome and devoted cousin might be rather dangerous to one's peace of mind, but, apologizing as well as I could for my misapprehension, and saying that, as we were very near neighbors, I trusted we might be very good friends, to which she responded very heartily, I made my congé, and departed with the most agreeable impressions of my new acquaintance. In pursuance of a good resolution that I made this morning, no longer to neglect a very plain duty, I have been to-day to call upon my neighbor over the way. I had ima- gined that many painful thoughts of the General and kind Mrs. Barton would inter- vene to mar the pleasure of my visit; but once within the door, I found the interior of the house so changed by different furniture and decorations, that it was difficult, even when I tried, to make it seem the same place. Yet everything was in perfect taste, just what the interior of a well-furnished house in a rural city like ours should be. I have seldom seen a lady so prepossessing in face and man- ner as my youthful neighbor. I do not like to see a woman smile in speaking. I distrust a perpetually smiling lip; but there is a light that bearns from the eye, and irradiates the countenance, quite unconsciously to the speaker, that I know to be the genuine efilu- ence of a gentle and kindly soul. She seems to hold one with her eye, so that one cannot choose but look at her, and, looking, love her. I do not enjoy the prospect of the house over the way as much as I used to. Not that it is less beautiful than formerly ; that Mrs. Isham is less pretty and gay, or Cousin Fred's brown curls less irresistible. On the contrary, one would not care to look for a lovelier model of feminine grace and beauty, or of perfect manhood than those that adorn the foreground of the picture from my win- dow. The weather is still fine, and the cou- sins, more inseparable than ever, linger out of doors to enjoy the sunshine that is too bright to last, pacing the long, shaded walks; sitting in the vine-covered kiosks, or on the quaintly- carved stone seats, beneath the spreading elms. Sometimes with a book, but always as if content with each other's society, they were perfectly and entirely happy. Nearly every day they go out on horseback, and Cousin Fred looks the gallant cavalier so well and proudly: that I sometimes find myself wishing that 70 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Mr. Isham possessed more of his fine personal advantages. They do indeed seem so well matched. But I am troubled, because I am really interested in my little neighbor, and fear that she, so young, away from her mo- ther's care, and left so much to herself, may become hopelessly entangled. Yet I would not for the world speak to any one of the anx- ieties I feel. To-day, very cautiously, I asked of Judge Le Mari if he knew whether the parents of Mrs. Isham were poor. “No, they were quite wealthy,” he said. So it was not from interested motives that she wedded Mr. Isham, and doubtless, if she had chosen, might have married her Cousin Fred. Well, it is useless for me to fret, so I must either shut my eyes or my window, and leave the giddy young people to go their own way. growing careless in his dress, and sadly inat- tentive; leaving the coast dangerously clear to the all-conquering Fred, who is “got up" to distraction every day. But "He may love, be compelled by mastery; For soon as mastery comes, sweet love, anon, Taketh his nimble wings, and soon away is gone." Too late, I fear, he will awake to find his pretty Kitty's love has flown away, bever to return. Pretty Mrs. Isham has paid me a visit to- day; not one of her formal round of bridal calls, for these she has not made yet; but only in a friendly and neighborly way. I thought of Cousin Fred, and intended, after the fashion usually adopted in society, to show my disapproval by exhibiting a little coldness. But I must confess I soon forgot it, and the ice with which I expected to cast a chill upon her advances melted before her affectionate and warm-hearted manner, and evaporated like the dew before the morning That Kitty! she makes my life qnite mise- rable. For some days Mr. Isham has been absent, doubtless on business, and Cousin Fred has been obliged, I suppose, to oversee affairs at home, for now he is gone each day till dinner time. I should be sorry to think that Mrs. Isham finds his absence so irksome that she cannot wait till his return; but she has done for him what she never did for her husband when at home. The light carriage and pony come around every day at four, and Madame Kitty herself drives down town for Cousin Fred, and they return together. Fast- ening the pony at the gate, they walk up to the house as lovingly as possible. Perfidious Kitty! Have you forgotten that you promised “ till death us do part ?" Perfidious young cats, both of you! My patience is fast failing And this evening, when Mr. Isham re- turned, they both went down to the carriage to see him with every demonstration of joy. I hope it was sincere; but certainly these young people are quite incomprehensible to me. ine. sun. “Dear Mrs. Le Mari,” she said, "you are so much like the friends I left at home that I should like to love you very much, if you let me." I could not refuse, for I feel an irrepress- ible interest in her, and I trust, with a better acquaintance, to be able to advise lier and do her good; and I have promised, at her re- quest, to be very neighborly, and to call her "Kitty," as she likes all who love her to do. It is three weeks since Kitty Isham's visit, and yet I have not fulfilled my promise of good neighborhood. I try to think as little of her as possible, for I find it very difficult to reconcile my ideas of right and wrong with those upon which she seems to model her actions. What can I do? She vexes me unut- terably. I wish that "Fred” would give more attention to his business and less to his Cousin Kitty. Mr. Isham comes home to dinner later than he used to, and seems weary and care- He is getting the “married look," too. Having secured his Kitty fast, he is I have a bright idea! Yes, I. Nobody ever gave me any great credit for acuteness; but really I have devised a project worthy, I think, of the wily Metternich himself. I have a friend, a coquette, as accomplished and inveterate as ever made eyes at the beaux, or assaulted the peace of the masculine community generally. I, Madame Le Mari, will give a party for the bride; all the “five hundred” shall be in- vited, and then and there shall Irene Iredell beguile and capture this dangerous, bewilder- ing, and naughty knight, and lead him away in the irrefrangible and invisible silken leash with which she has already bound so many captives. Pretty Mrs. Isham may have the heartache if she will, but desperate diseases require desperate remedies, and it is all for her good. It is philosophic, it is feasible; it shall be done ! worn. OVER THE WAY.--POETRY. THE HEART'S SECRET. BY M. A. N. “TELL me, my sister, come tell to me, Why brings the winter no joy to thee? Why is that shadow come o'er thy brow? Why is thy merry voice tuneless now? Why beams po joy from thy lovelit eye? Tell me, jay sister, oh, tell me why?" "Ask the flower why it droops its head When the foot of man with its heartless tread Has crushed the light from its dewy eyes; Ask it then why it droops and dies? Sister, dear sister, I may not tell of the grief that is tolling my funeral knell." “Tell me, my sister, oh, tell me where Are the roses that blossomed on thy cheek so fair ? The joyous laugh and the lightsome tone of thy merry voice are no longer known. Where are the songs that I love so well? Tell me, dear sister, I pray thee tell.”' “They are fled, they are gone with the summer flowers ; They are fled, like the birds, from the wildwood bowers; But ask no more, for I may not speak of the clouded brow and the blighted cheek. 'Tis little my heart of my childhood knows, Of blighted hopes and of broken vows.' " That I must ask of thee once again, Sister, loved sister, oh, tell me when Shall I bask in the light of thy sunny smile, And list to the song of thy lips the while? Where shall I wreathe thee a crown of lowers, 'Mid the glorious light of the summer hours?" “Not upon earth, where the flowers must fade, And the heart's bright hopes in the dust are laid; But knowest thou not of another shore Where (when the journey of life is o'er) A fadeless crown shall be ours to wear? With the smile of old, I will greet thee there." 13 Well! did you ever ? But I must explain in a little more orderly way. Irene Iredell was here to-day, and in a manner that I flat- tered myself was a masterpiece of diplomacy I opened to her the subject that had so long possessed my mind. “Cara mia," said I, “how many subjects have you in hand just now ?” “What do you mean, Alice Le Mari ?" re- turned Irene. “Well, how many beings sigh at your cha- riot-wheels pierced by the shafts from those invincible and all-conquering eyes ?" “Nonsense, Alice,” said Irene. "To hear you talk, one would take me for the most remorseless of coquettes, and you know that I only flirt a little pour passer le temps." “How is it," I asked, "that you have never set your cap at that tall, poetic-looking cousin of Mrs. Isham ?" 16. Tall? poetic ?' replied Irene; "well, you have curious ideas, Alice. I consider him a decidedly matter-of-fact looking per- sonage, with a tendency to corpulence that will fit him for municipal honors some day.” “Irene," said I, “you have made the most absurd mistake. Cousin Fred is handsome, and gallant as a Paladin of old, but Mr. Ishain is quite thick-set." “ Allow me to correct you, Madame Alice," returned Irene. “I speak what I do know. Father does Mr. Isham's professional business. He negotiated for the Barton place for him, and has charge of his affairs. I have met him often in the office, and think I have never seen so splendid a man. Confess yourself inistaken" I do confess myself mistaken. Dear little Kitty Isham, this very day I will go over, and show her all the kindness that is in my heart for her, such kindness as shall, if possible, atone for all past coldness and neglect. My story having lost its foundation, of course falls to the ground as a lesson to im- prudent young people, for which it was in. tended when I began to glean these items from my note-book; but, mortifying as it is to my discernment, I am willing to share in all humility with any who may wish it the dearly bought wisdom that I acquired in attending to the affairs of my neighbors “over the way.” ?? 17 TRIFLES.—There are many little things in the household, attention to which is indis- pensable to health and happiness. The kind of air which circulates in a house may seem a small matter, for we cannot see the air, aud not many people know anything about it; yet if we do not provide a regular supply of pure air within our houses, we shall inevitably suffer for our neglect. A few specks of dirt may seem neither here nor there, and a closed door or window appear to make little differ- ence; but it may make the difference of a life destroyed by fever, and therefore the little dirt and the little bad air are very serious matters, and ought to be removed accordingly. The whole of the household regulations are, taken by themselves, trifles—but trifles tend- ing to an important result. TIME.-As every thread of gold is valuable, so is every minute of time. AT HOME AND ABROAD. BY MARY W. JANVRIX. “What a pleasant, genial man he is, Aunt Jane, and what a pity he has such a cold, un- social wife!" “Of whom are you speaking, my dear?” asked the lady addressed, turning from ex- tinguishing the superfluous gas to her niece Julia Dale, who lingered by the register that December evening, after the departure of a party of guests whom Mrs. Atherton had en- tertained in hier always cheerful, hospitable, city home. “Of Mr. Emery, aunt. He was so delight- fully agreeable-quite the life of the company to-night; and they say his wife is just his opposite, and never accompanies him any- where into society. It must be so trying to a man of genial temperament to be married to a woman who has no sympathy with his tastes. He is to be pitied, I am sure!" "You seem fully acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Emery's points of disposition on a very short acquaintance, Julia,” returned Mrs. Atherton, taking a seat near her niece. “Why, aunt, how can I help it? Every one speaks of it. And Miss Jessup told me, only this evening, all about it; you know she is very intimate with them." "With Mr. Emery, you mean, my dear?" interrupted Mrs. Atherton, with an expressive smile on her lips. "Why, she appeared to know all about his wife, too,” replied Miss Dale, “for she told me that Mrs. Emery would never go anywhere with him, though, of course, people always invite them both-and that she seldom re- turns calls, and, when she does, dresses so old-fashioned, and wears such pokey bonnets, and, altogether, looks as if she came out of the ark, that it must mortify her husband almost to death, for his taste in dress is per- fect. Now, aunty, you must admit that it is very unfortunate for two persons of such un- congenial natures to be linked together." “ Very,” replied Mrs. Atherton, dryly. “I perceive that you have drawn a most apt con- clusion from your informant’s remarks. Or is it, in part, the fruit of your own acquaint- ance with Mr. Emery, Julia ?” “What a question!” said Miss Dale. “As if the gentleman has bestowed his confidence on a comparative stranger, like me. But of course Miss Jessup is a young lady of truth; and she seems a great friend of Mr. Emery's. And not only she, but several of the other ladies I have inet this fall and winter, hare united in pitying him. And you see it must be that he really needs sympathy; for we have never, at a single place, met his wife with him." "True; but there may be reasons for Mrs. Emery's remaining at home, while her liege lord goes abroad, which neither you nor I, nor the world of society,' understand, my dear Julia. "They say is not always to be relied upon, as I have often had occasion to know during my life experience," returned the aunt, gravely. “I never thought of that, Aunt Jane. Is Mrs. Emery out of health, or has she extra family cares. But, if so, surely her husband would not have been here to-night; for he seems to feel so chivalrously toward all ladies, that I am sure he must be a most tender and devoted husband." "I think Mrs. Emery must be pretty well, for I saw her at church last Sabbath, as usual. She is always very punctual in her attendance upon Divine Worship. And both her chil- dren-two lovely girls of twelve and nine- are quite beyond the age which would claim their mother to the nursery," answered Mrs. Atherton. “ Why, then, didn't she accept your invi- tation for this evening ?" asked Miss Dale, triumphantly. “I can't see any excuse for her; and I see, now, why poor Mr. Emery evaded your inquiry for her, for he didn't want to call attention to what has become so very common-and, if he goes into society at all, he must go alone." “Your question as to why Mrs. Emery did not accompany her husband to-night, Julia, I cannot answer any more than I can give a reason for our not meeting her at Mrs. Ma- camber's or Miss Houston's last week, at both of which places we did meet the gentleman,” replied Mrs. Atherton. " It has come to be a settled thing, that Mr. Emery accepts all party invitations, while his wife never does- and I should not be surprised if, by and by, 72 AT HOME AND ABROAD. 73 . · Both pos- her name was entirely omitted from the lists. But, although I cannot take it upon me to say what the reason her non-attendance may really be, I have sometimes thought that perhaps this gay, social, genial gentle- man, whom everybody in general, and Char- lotte Jessup in particular, is pitying so, might not be so deserving of it, after all--for we have all read and heard of men who are very different at home and abroad; and there are some of us older ladies still in society, who can recollect the time, thirteen or fourteen years ago, when there was no more cheerful, lively, agreeable girl than Sarah Warden, or more lovely young bride than Mrs. Emery. Perhaps she has not staid at home voluntarily all these later years, Julia.” “Oh, aunt, it can't be that Mr. Emery is in fault; for I heard him say, to-night, that no lot could be more miserable than to be mis- matched in the married state. sessing different tastes : no sympathy-no' congeniality-no true union. As widely as- sunder as the antipodes !' hose were his very expressions, Aunt Jane. And he looked so sad-and spoke with such suppressed feel- ing, as though the words were drawn forth reluctantly—that I was quite ashamed of the emotion I betrayed, and dreaded lest he should see the tears in my eyes. “Julia, did Mr. Emery say this to you ?” asked Mrs. Atherton, in grave surprise. “No, Aunt Jane; but to Miss Jessup. You see, somehow, the conversation has turned on unhappy marriages—and we were all giv- ing our opinions, more in a way of playful badinage than in seriousness—and I was sur- prised to see how in earnest Mr. Emery seemed. Miss Jessup whispered to me after- ward: 'You may be sure he suffers dread. fully, Miss Dale. Do you think we girls talked on a forbidden subject, aunty? You look so solemn and reproving," said her niece. "I think there is but one rule to be applied to all such cases, my dear Julia," was Mrs. Atherton's reply. “It is always wrong for young, unmarried ladies to listen to the com- plaints of married men who are desirous of finding listeners to their repinings. If this lack of congeniality, which Mr. Emery spoke of, be real, none of you were the proper reci- pients of his confidence; if imaginary, then I can only say that he not a man of honor, but a dangerous companion. In either case, it showed very bad taste--to call it by no more condemnatory term-for a husband to utter hints which he doubtless knew would be applied to his absent wife; and, in future, Julia, I trust that your own sense of riglit will induce you to turn the subject, if it is ever broached again in your presence. As for Miss Charlotte Jessup, I have watched that young lady quite closely of late, and formed my own opinion of her; and, if Mr. Emery is so very miserable, how could he take such apparent delight in dancing those quadrilles with her this evening? My advice is, Julia, that you reserve your sympathy for the suf- fering married man until we find out how his wife is passing her time at home, while he is talking sentiment and dancing with gay young belles away from her." “ Aunt Jane, how practical you are! You go right to the foundation-strike the root of the matter at once,' as our good old minis- ter used to say. I wish I had your good sense!” said her niece, admiringly. “Can't we cultivate an acquaintance with this stay- at-home wife immediately ?" “Forty-five does not take everything for granted, as eighteen does. Yes, we will call on Mrs. Emery to-morrow or next day. There! I believe I have answered both your wise re- mark and your question, my dear," returned her aunt, with a smile, rising as she spoke, and wheeling back the luxurious reception- chair from beside the register. let's go to bed, else we shall both feel stupid enough to-morrow after this evening's dissi. pation; and you know I am under bonds to your father and mother for the preservation of your roses and bright eyes." As may have been inferred from the fore- going conversation, Mrs. Atherton was a lady of strong, good sense, and much knowledge of human nature. And we will add, that she was a widow of fortune, without children; and she had prevailed upon her sister, Mrs. Dale, to give up her eighteen-year old daugli- ter Julia—a bright, lively, winning girl-into her care for the fall and winter; which privi- lege was duly appreciated by both parties, aunt and niece alike enjoying themselves to- gether-the young maiden entering with zest into the agreeable society of the cultivated circle she met under her aunt's hospitable roof, and Mrs. Atherton often forgetting the loneliness of her widowhood in the cheerful companionship of youth. On the morning following Mrs. Atherton's 66 And now, 744 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. entertainment, while that lady and her niece were still wrapped in the rest which was to compensate for late hours, let us visit the household of two of the principal characters who figured in the conversation of the preced- ing night. Eight o'clock had struck; and Mrs. Emery sat in the breakfast-room, awaiting the ap- pearance of her tardy husband. Already the breakfast-bell had twice summoned him; but that gentleman, who in nowise ever suffered himself to forego his own ease for the con- venience of other members of his household, still lingered in his chamber. “Shall I ring ag’in, mum ?" inquired a small-sized specimen of the Celtic race, put- ting her frowzy head inside the door. “No, Mary. I hear Mr. Emery stirring now, and he will be down presently," was her mistress' answer. But it was full fifteen minutes before the delinquent came below, he having occupied that time in fastidiously “getting himself up” for the day in the immaculate linen and well- brushed suit his thoughtful wife had laid out for him, and in the minor duties of the toilet. With his appearance, however, the signal was given for the bringing in of breakfast; and the two girls--Sarah and Minnie-came in, and took their seats at the table, unnoticed except by a gruff “Morning, girls!” from their father. Mr. Emery was a handsome, well-preserved man of about forty, with jetty lair, well- trimmed whiskers of the same hue, and ruddy complexion, indebted for its glow to plenty of good living and social cheer-both the latter of which, I am sorry to record, he did not find at home, since he took his dinners down town, and found his festive entertain- ment in the houses of a wide circle of ac- quaintances, where he was a constant guest. For, as has been surmised by Mrs. Atherton, this gentleman was quite a different person at home and abroad, as the events of our story may still further develop. Now, in the strong morning light, fully re- freshed by his undisturbed late nap, and in his spotless linen, smooth-fitting vest, hand- some dressing-gown, and elegantly-wrought slippers, he presented a marked contrast to his wife, who, at thirty-five, looked fully five years his senior—for Mrs. Emery's complexion was faded, and her brow was already traced by minute wrinkles-the furrowed footmarks of anxiety and care; while her morning wrap- per looked as passée in style and pattern as her luxurious spouse's was rich and modern, remodelled, as all hers were, from an old dress which had done duty through a long cam- paign of service. With his first spoonful of the coffee his wife passed him, Mr. Emery pushed away the cup, uttering his customary growl of dislike. “Insipid, tasteless stuff! I suppose that new girl manufactured this. Why can't you see to the boiling of the coffee yourself, Saralı, when you know that I like a strong cup in the morning ?” he said, in his habitual fault- finding tone. Mrs. Emery did not reply, for she was well- used to such demonstrations after nights of party going; and she knew what they betok- ened--for the palate, cloyed by the late sup- pers and wines of fashionable society, was prone to require stronger stimulus than the really excellent cup of Java smoking before him. After steak and toast had been served, she ventured the inquiry : “Did you spend the evening pleasantly at Mrs. Atherton's, Alfred ?" “Yes, rather;" was the laconic reply, half smothered in a mouthful of steak. “Who were there, my dear? I used to like Mrs. Atherton exceedingly, when we met, years ago. But it is so long since I have mingled in society that I should feel like a comparative stranger. I hope you excused my non-acceptance of her kind invitation ?" "Of course. But what's the use of inquir- ing about folks who, as you say, are all strangers to you? You wouldn't know thein if I should mention them over; and I should think it was rather late in the day to trouble yourself about those you won't be likely to meet very soon. Give me another cup of your poor coffee, for I'm confounded thirsty this morning !" and he shoved his cup across the table-cloth. The wife poured the coffee with a trembling hand. Used as she was to the open neglect or careless indifference of the man who was her husband in name alone, she never had learned to subdue the nervous quiver of lip and hand, that told when these cruel shafts struck home. "Father, whose fault is it that mother don't go anywheres ?" Had a bombshell fallen upon that breakfast- table, it could not have startled that man, AT HOME AND ABROAD. 7€ who sat there in supreme selfishness, more than did this question from the lips of the oldest daughter-black-eyed Miss Sarah-who inherited none of her mother's meekness with her name, but, on the contrary, enough of her father's insouciance to make her outspoken and fearless in the household. " Yes; I should like to know why mother don't go to evening parties as all the other ladies do? Anyway, I guess there's a good reason for it!" she added; and then, having fired her shell, Miss Sarah again addressed herself to her breakfast. Mrs. Emery was too much astonished at her daughter's sudden remark to utter a word of rebuke; and, though her husband, very red and angry, fully intended to, and laid down his knife and fork preparatory to so doing, he quailed before the one full, fearless glance the girl suddenly flung upon him from the black eyes so like his own. So he, perforce, con- tented himself with a faint, sarcastic laugh, and with saying, sneeringly :- “Mrs. Einery, you know how I dislike a pert, forward child_such as, it strikes me, Miss Sarah is getting to be. I would advise you to keep her somewhat ip check, or you may have her out in society herself before you are aware!" after which unfatherly speech he rose, pushed back his chair, and began ex- changing his dressing-gown for his coat which lay across a lounge near the fire. The wife took no notice of his remark- neither did Miss Sarah, beyond a certain de- fiant look which crept into her eye; but just as he was drawing on his overcoat and fur collar, which he had ordered Minnie to bring in from the hall, she ventured the query :- " What shall we have for dinner, Mr. Emery?" He turned quickly, with an annoyed look, and said, in an impatient tone :- " Whatever you like, I suppose! I shall get mine down town, as usual.” “Very well. But I shall have to draw npon you for money to do the marketing with,” was Mrs. Emery's quiet answer. “ Money! What have you done with all that I gave you only a day or two ago ?" " It was a week last Saturday, and 'tis now Wednesday, Mr. Emery. You gave me seven dollars; and we had turkey for dinner two Sundays, and the last of the money Mary paid for the steak this morning. So you perceive I have not been very extravagant, Mr. Emery.” Mrs. Emery spoke sententiously, but her tone betrayed no emotion beyond a simple wish to recall facts to his memory. “Well, I can't help it; but I do think you might make your allowance go farther in pro- viding for the table, Sarah. I'm not made of money; and can't let you have any this morning. You must hash over-or fry some- thing—or make a pudding. I guess you can get along to-day; and, if I come up to supper to-night, I'll send home some oysters-you know I'm very fond of them. But if I don't come by six, you needn't expect me; for I believe there's a club meeting this evening, and if there is, I shall get a bite down town. Maybe to-morrow I shall have some house- keeping funds for you!” And, drawing on his warm gloves, the elegant Mr. Emery—the "mismatched,” “unappreciated” man-left the room and closed his front door, emerging from his “uncongenial home" for a ride in the 'bus to his cosey, well-heated, hand- somely-furnished office down town. That noon-at the hour when the city's principal thoroughfares were alive with their motley crowds-Mr. Emery, in going down Tremont Street toward Copeland's, met Miss Charlotte Jessup, gay and blossoming, en com- pagnie with another young lady belle of her own stamp; and five minutes later, the pair, accepting the gentleman's urgent invitation for a lunch, were seated opposite him at one of the marble tables in that fashionable res. taurant. That “lunch," brought by an attentive waiter, who had been doomed to linger full five minutes to receive the order suggested by the young belle's capricious appetites, was paid for by a deposit of over three dollars at the desk as Mr. Every passed out; and yet, that morning, this "mismatched," "unappre- ciated" man—this recipient of Miss Jessup's and her friend's sympathy and pity—had re- fused his wife necessary funds to provide a dinner for herself and children, and left them to work a household miracle in conjuring the recommended "hash" or "something fried,” from a pantry more nearly allied to Mother Hubbard's celebrated one than he would have cared for his young lady friends to have known. Truly, there is a great difference between “At home and Abroad!" Meantime-as the bright winter's forenoon glided by, bringing out the city belles for a promenade on the pave, and Mrs. Atherton 76 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, and her niece from their late breakfast to a drive in the clear, bracing air—Mrs. Emery was left alone at home, after her girls had departed for the morning session of school. As she sat down to her sewing, after she had tidied up sitting-room and her chamber, the poor woman's thoughts were not of a nature the most agreeable to be dwelt upon. Not that her experience of the morning was greatly different from her usual ones on days succeeding nights when her husband was absent “ in society" while she remained se- cluded at home-a practice which had been kept up for some eight or nine years, ever since the birth of Minnie; but there had been a time-as Mrs. Atherton told her niece - when the affianced bride and the young wife had accompanied her husband into scenes of social festivity; but that seemed so far ago, now, on this morning when she sat thinking it over, that it seemed to belong to some an- terior life long vanished in the distant past. Still, Mrs. Emery felt more than usually dispirited that morning. There were many anxieties pressing upon her. The housewife's exchequer was empty, as has been seen; the girls' wardrobes needed replenishing, for win- ter had come and their last year's frocks were still doing duty; and Sarah's music term was up that week, and her father would be sure to remember that unlucky speech of hers at the breakfast table, and accompany the pay for Monsieur Allegro with such words of un- kindness—and perhaps put a ban on her future tuition - that she dreaded the day when the lessons should expire. For this "mismatched" husband always made it a point to dole out grudgingly, and with bitter words, the funds necessary for the ordinary expenses of his family, carefully nursing and petting his own luxurious tastes the while. Mrs. Emery laid down her sewing, and leaned her head wearily against her chair. "Oh, dear! I'm tired of living so!" she sighed. “It's been so all my married life, ex- cept those first few years while papa lived and was reputed to be wealthy; but after he failed, and went down-poor, dear papa!-howevery- thing changed! I've tried-God knows how hard-not to think that Alfred married me because I was a rich man's daughter; but I can't help believing it was so—Heaven forgive me if I wrong him! No wonder I'm growing old, and fading so fast! I might look young as other women at my age, and enjoy society as I used, and not get out of the way of see- ing everybody, if Alfred was to me what other men are to their wives !” she said, bit- terly. "But he is not; and because I'm getting old and faded, and dress shabbily, he doesn't want me to go anywhere with him- only to stay at home, and keep his house and clothes in order, and be his slave! Oh, he is selfish-utterly selfish !" and the excited wo- mau set her teeth together closely. “If I had foreseen all this, it might have been different!” she went on. “I had ad- mirers enough in my girlhood; and, if I had married some other man, I should not now be the broken-down woman I am, with my own daughters pitying me. That was a telling shaft Sarah sent from her quiver this morn- ing, and I saw how her father winced under it. But it won't make him any different. It will only cause him to dislike her; and I'm sorry the girl said a word. Oh, he is selfish!" and, this time, she emphasized the assertion by an impatient stamp of her little foot. “I wish some change would come—something would happen!” she again continued. “If papa had lived, or brother Robert hadn't gone off to sea, perhaps things would be different now. I should have somebody to take an in- terest in me. But Alfred doesn't seem to care about me now; and yet he used to say he loved me;" and, even at this thought of the past, the wife's mien softened, and she fell into a long train of musing, broken by many sighs until tears came to relieve her pent-up heart. It was in this mood of questioning her husband's affection for her, that the little handmaid brought up to her mistress two cards bearing the names of “Mrs. Atherton" and “Miss Julia Dale;' and Mrs. Emery, who had not even heard the ringing of the door- bell, was roused to send word that she would be down in a moment, wondering greatly why she, who had gotten entirely out of the way of receiving calls, should be favored that morning. In any other mood, the little wife would have changed her wrapper for the sole pre- sentable dress she owned-a merino, which did duty for both church and promenade gear; but now she resolved to go down just as she was, and straightway made her ap- pearance in the parlor in the very passée morning-wrapper which she had worn breakfast. " They saw Mr. Emery last night in all his at AT HOME AND ABROAD. 77 glory, and now they shall see me in mine!" she said, as she went down; and she felt really hard and bitter as she approached her visitors. But Mrs. Atherton's greeting soon melted this mood. There was something so truly kind and affectionate in that lady's mapper- the clasp of her hand was so like an elder sister's--that Mrs. Emery's demeanor was disarmed of all its asperity, an l she began to forget her own unhappiness in the charm of her visitor's presence. Years before, when the two ladies met in society, they had been mutually drawn to each other; and now the old attraction was revived, and Mrs. Emery's naturally trustful and confiding nature went out to meet her friend's noble, generous one, while she talked freely with the lovely young Miss Dale for her own sake no less than her aunt's. "We were truly sorry, my dear, not to see you at my house with your husband last night; and Julia and I have come to admin- ister direct reproof therefor. I wanted par- ticularly to see your face among my friends, for you have been a 'lost star' from our midst too long. Now, Mrs. Emery, I am going to enter a remonstrance against your secluding yourself from society. It is a duty you owe to us, no less than to yourself and your hus- band, who appears very fond of social life. So it must not occur in future; and, even now, I am inclined not to excuse your open slight of my last invitation, for of course Mr. Emery told you that I charged him not to ap- pear without you. You remember how often we used to meet when you were first married ? and I never felt reconciled to your giving up society so." Mrs. Atherton, after saying this, did not wait for a lengthy reply from her hostess, for she divined, intuitively, from the surprised look she could not conceal, that Mrs. Emery had not received her "charge”' to her hus- band. So she continued :- “Now, as I want you and my niece Julia to become great friends, I have come round this morning to engage you to take tea with us next Monday evening. A few other of your old friends will be present, and the gentlemen will be invited for the evening; so I will see that Mr. Emery has his 'call' in due form. Now, don't say 'No,' for I cannot accept a de- nial!'' persisted Mrs. Atherton, as she rose to leave. And so, surprised out of herself, Mrs. Emery was forced into a compliance with her friend's wish ; though, hardly had her callers depart- ed, ere she was solving that problem which has puzzled many a woman beside Flora McFlimsey, viz., the fact that she had “10- thing to wear." “Well, how do you like Mrs. Emery ?”' in- quired Mrs. Atherton of her niece as they rode away. “Very much. There is something exceed- ingly winning about her, and she has a sweet voice. But she looks dejected—and oh, Aunt Jane, what an old-fashioned wrapper she had on!” was Julia Dale's truly feminine answer. "Yes. Mrs. Emery does look dejected ' neglected' would, perhaps, be a better word. And that wrapper is certainly twelve years old, at least. I distinctly remember the dress it was made of one of her bridal trousseau; for she wore it the last time I ever met her in company!" replied Mrs. Atherton, with a singular expression on her lips. Twenty minutes later, as the two ladies were leaving their carriage before a fashion, able dry-goods store, they met, on the side walk, Mr. Emery, gay and smiling, escorting Miss Charlotte Jessup and her companion, on their return from their lunch. Both the young ladies were attired in the extreme of la mode, and looked very stylish and coquet- tish in their velvet casaques, rich furs, and jaunty turban hats; and Miss Jessup gave a cordial greeting; and the gentleman lifted his faultless beaver and waved his gloved hand, displaying a set of brilliantly-white teeth be. neath a jetty moustache as he smiled, then passed onward. “We should have never imagined Mr. Emery a married man, should we, Julia ? And, really, it is greatly to be deplored that he is so ‘mis. unatched!'” said Mrs. Atherton, looking after the trio with a quiet glance of contempt as they mingled with the crowd on the thronged pave. When Mrs. Atherton and her niece reached home, an hour later, the elder lady, among the rest of her purchases, unrolled a parcel which the shop-boy had taken to her carriage, and displayed its contents. “How do you like this, Julia ?” she asked, gathering up into folds a handsome, lustrous, brown silk. " It is beautiful! Why, aunty, is that what you were selecting when you sent me 78 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, off to the other side of the store in search of this set of French embroideries ?” was Miss Dale's admiring ejaculation. “Yes. And now you are wondering who is going to wear it, since I am not out of my purples, and you are not yet into browns !” replied her aunt, with a smile that savored of mystery. “Well, you wouldn't guess, if you should try all day; so I'll tell you. The dress is for Mrs. Emery." “For Mrs. Emery !” exclaimed Julia Dale, in surprise. “ Yes; it is a little whim of mine that she should wear this to my house next Monday. Not, indeed, as a gift from me—for I wouldn't, for the world, so injure Mrs. Emery's feelings as to insinuate that she needs it; but, my dear, judging rightly, as I feel I do, that she has not one really handsome and modern dress in her wardrobe, and not wishing to give her any excuse for sending a denial to my invitation upon afterthought, I am going to send her this silk and the set of embroid- eries to-morrow, after Mr. Emery has received his invitation also, and thus lead the little woman to suppose that her husband, natu- rally wishing to see her clad as his wife onght to be, ordered them for her.” “But, Aunt Jaue, Mrs. Emery 'll be sure to go and thank her husband; and then he'll betray his ignorance of the gift, and she won't wear it; and so your nice little plot will be spoiled !” said Julia Dale. “ Why not send the package marked, “A Christmas token from a friend ?' Wouldn't that do better ?'' "I'm afraid not, Julia," replied Mrs. Ather- ton. “I know her sensitive spirit, wliich would take offence at once ; and I wouldn't be even suspected of being the donor, for any consideration; though I might feel it a privi. lege to do any kindness to the daughter of the once prosperous merchant who, years ago, was of valuable assistance to my husband when he set out on his business career. But I prefer to send the dress without any indorse- ment or signature ; and I shall even remove this envelope bearing the advertisement of the louse where it was bought, in order that she may have no clue; and I trust to good fortune that she will think, as other ladies are prone to, that it came from her husband. nothing left for Mrs. Emery to do but to have the dress made up; and I am sure nobody will enjoy seeing her attired as she hasn't been for a long time more than I shall !" And so, on the following day, the bundle, duly secured in plain brown wrappings froin which the trade paper had been removed, was sent by Mrs. Atherton's errand boy to the re- sidence of its recipient. Mrs. Emery was in a little tumult of trou- bled feeling at the time the package arrived. Her husband had not said a word to her regarding his reception of a note of invitation to Mrs. Atherton's for the ensuing Monday evening, although she had found such a note that morning on the carpet of their chamber after he had gone down town, dropped doubt- less from his pocket; and, with a revival of her bitter feelings, she had resolved not to mention to him that lady's call of yesterday and desire for her own society on the day in question. But when the package was put into her hands, received by Mary at the door-and the soft folds of the rich silk fell there- from-with her true woman's nature, glad to catch at any straw of her husband's affection, she exclaimed, eagerly:-- "Oh, this is kind in Alfred—and I have misjudged him! After all, careless though he seems, he does love me; and, though he said nothing about my going to Mrs. Ather- ton's, he must have learned of her visit to me, and has selected this lovely silk that I may appear as well-dressed as others who may be present. And now, since he has been so delicate in his gift, I will not embarrass him by thanks; but have the dress niade right up, and never let him see it till he meets me at Mrs. Atherton's. And this beautiful set of embroideries! Just what I should have chosen, conld I have felt to afford them. Alfred does care for me, after all; and I have wronged him by my suspicions.” And thus, happy in her blissful ignorance, the little wife put on her cloak and bonnet; and, that very afternoon, took the brown silk to the dress- maker's. The evening of Mrs. Atherton's company arrived; bringing together about a dozen married ladies-some of them old friends of Mrs. Emery's girlhood-and all wives of gen- tlemen whose business relations often brought them into contact with her husband. Miss Charlotte Jessup was the only unmarried lady present; and it was her impression, upon en- tering her hostess's parlor, that she had been So I see AT HOME AND ABROAD. 79 invited specially as the recipient of the lovely young Julia Dale's hospitality; and a very marked look of surprise arched her pencilled eyebrows as she was presented to a new-comer in her social world-Mrs. Emery. Meantime, that little lady, couscious that she was well-dressed, and much pleased at this meeting with old friends, was in better looks and spirits than she had been for years. “Why, Mrs. Emery is really pretty; and she seems to enjoy herself as well as the rest of us! And we had always thought her so old-fashioned, and cold, and unsocial," whis- pered one of the ladies present to Mrs. Ather- ton, who smiled expressively, as she said, in return :- “Possibly we have misjudged her, my dear Mrs. Padelford !" As has been said, Miss Charlotte Jessup was the only unmarried guest present; and, as the evening wore on, the belle and beauty seemed strangely restless and uncomfortable in the presence of Mrs. Emery, who, all un- conscious of any reason why she should not be gracious to that young lady, was exceed- ingly affable to her. “One would think Mrs. Emery as much in love with Charlotte Jessup as her husband appears to be—and you know that their open flirtation is in everybody's mouth!” again whispered Mrs. Padelford. "For my part, I must acknowledge that I have a spice of re- venge in my nature, which would quite for- bid my treating that girl even civilly." Again Mrs. Atherton smiled expressively; and replied kindly :- “You know that my position as hostess quite precludes my expressing opinions of my guests; but, for the sake of sweet charity, let us think that our good little Mrs. Emery is very lenient to youth and giddiness." “ Both of which attributes are not embodied in her husband !" said Mrs. Padelford shortly, “ for he is old enough to know better. I used to think him a much-to-be pitied inan; but my opinion is fast changing!” and she turned away, to go over to Mrs. Emery, and engage her in conversation. At nine o'clock the gentlemen began to come in. Rather later, arrived Mr. Emery. After paying his compliments to his hostess and her niece, over whose hand he bent with his most elaborate bow and blandest smile, Mr. Emery glanced aronnd the rooms; and, espying Miss Jessup, seated a little apart from the com- pany-apparently engaged in overlooking a portfolio of drawings, but in reality deep in “the sulks” (for this expressive term exactly describes her condition), because there were no eligible beaux to fiirt with-he crossed the floor to accost her. At first sight of this married man—who, as had been proved on former occasions, did not chance to belong to that Bayard school, sans reproche, who thought it only right to remain true to their marriage vows and pay attention only to their own wives—at first sight of him the coquette brightened; but, in another mo- ment, a repellent expression settled down over her handsome features, and, with a haughty toss of her head, she glanced askance toward Mrs. Emery, who, engaged in an animated conversation with Mrs. and Mr. Padelford and some others, had not noticed her husband's entrance until a gentleman of the group, es- pying him, called out:- “Ah! there's Emery!” Instantly the gentleman whose name was called turned; and straightway his gaze fell upon a lady, elegantly dressed, and with a flush on her cheeks he had not seen there for years—his own wife! I question if there was not one other in that company, besides his hostess, who read the meaning of that look of surprise, discomfiture, even anger, which overspread Mr. Emery's face, and caused him for a moment to lose that elegant self-possession for which lie was noted. That one, however, was not his wife; for she, in her · blissful ignorance," fondly imagined that the flush which lit his cheeks was the signal of a husband's natural pleasure at seeing his partner happy and appreciated by others, in her contact with social life. But it was Miss Charlotte Jessup; for that young lady-still young in years, but old and hack- neyed in reading what had been her favorite study ever since her advent in le beau monde, viz: men's hearts-had, with lightning intui- tion, divined what was passing in the mind of her surprised married adorer. No wonder that Miss Jessup felt out of humor with the company; and that the frown upon her white forehead, and the curl of her scarlet lips, were but tokens of the anger she felt at being compelled to pass an entire eve- ning without the rapt devotion of an admirer, and her supreme, utter disgust for the gay Lothario, who suddenly found himself in a predicament which his very fertile inagina- 80 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, tion had never conceived of before-to vit: obliged to be civil to his own wife! That tableau would, in truth, have been "a scene for an artist," if artists could have been allowed the latitude of picturing Mr. Emery's and Miss Jessup's thoughts upon their faces so permanently that all who looked might con- tinue to read; but none of that ilk happened to be in Mrs. Atherton's parlors that evening, and so our subjects escaped, with only this comment from sharp-sighted Mrs. Padelford, whispered aside to her husband a little while after:- "I've been watching Mr. Emery ever since he came in; and it's my belief that his wife is worth two of him—and we've never appreci- ated her before. And, as for Lottie Jessup, I think it's high time that she knew that girls, who show pique to married gentlemen be- cause their wives happen to claim the attention they have formerly openly angled for, had better look out for their reputation. I shall insist upon Mrs. Emery's visiting me; and I shall not ask Charlotte Jessup!" As for Mrs. Atherton, as hostess she fulfilled her duty of treating all her guests with uniform kindness and attention ; but there was a tinge of lurking sarcasm-all unsuspected by the wife, but evident to the husband-under her cordial parting words :- “Mr. Emery, I am deeply grateful to you for bringing your wife this time; and to you, my little lady, I enter my strongest protest against your depriving us of your well-ap- preciated presence in the future !" Whether the lesson received was effectual, may be judged from the fact that, from that time, Mr. Emery lost his prestige among his acquaintances as a "mismatched,” “unap- preciated" man; and Mrs. Emery's fame rose in the same ratio as a "genial," "social," “extremely interesting” woman, whose place in society was not, thenceforth, wholly vacant. But the truth that the brown silk dress was not the husband's gift never transpired, although the wife did not forget to thank him for it upon suitable occasion; which little piece of deception may be credited to the gentleman's loathness to acknowledge him- sell, in reality, the very selfish man he actually was. And so he took the credit for a gift he never gave; although I must confess that he did puzzle many a day over the mys- tery, which, even now, remains unsolved to his mind; and he felt very angry inwardly with the unknown donor who had thus dared to offer a hint that the wife of so elegantly dressed a man as himself was minus the attire requisite to make her appearance in society. And yet, strange to say, Mrs. Atherton escaped unsuspected; and so the irate husband's anger, like Don Quixote's encounter with the windmills, came to naught, and vanished at last into thin air. But little Mrs. Emery did not afterwards want for silk dresses or French embroideries, or any other of the customary appliances of & well-attired lady's wardrobe; for about that time-just as it happens in romances- her long absent sailor-brother Bob came home from China with a fortune won by a series of lucky tea speculations; and took it upon him- self to fit out his only sister and his two young nieces with all sorts of luxurious providings, until such time as he met Miss Julia Dale, and straightway fell deeply in love, and speedily sued for the privilege of keeping that young lady in “dry-goods” for the rest of her natural life. But, secure now in her acquired rights, and in no danger of losing the same through any overt act of self-depreciation, Mrs. Emery still keeps on her proper path; and in society so completely absorbs her husband's atten- tions and enjoys her own popularity, that dis- comfited Miss Charlotte Jessup, completely driven to the wall, frowns in open disgust whenever she meets her former adorer, whom she fails to recognize beyond a cold bow; and the once poor, pitied, "mismatched," "unappreciated" Mr. Emery is now, perforce, obliged to conduct himself much more dis- creetly, and after the pattern of model married men, both at home and abroad. can OPINION.—No liberal man would impnte a charge of unsteadiness to another for having changed his opinion. No man can safely govern that would not cheerfully become a subject; no man safely command that has not truly learned to obey; and no man can safely rejoice but him that has the testimony of a good conscience. CONVERSATION.-Some men are very enter- taining for a first interview, but after that they are exhausted and run out; on a second meeting we shall find them very flat and mo- notonous; like hand-organs, we have heard all their tunes. NOVELTIES FOR JANUARY. WAIST, BONNETS, CHILDREN'S DRESSES, ETC. Fig. 1. Fig. 1.–The Creole waist, made of white cashmere, with collar, epaulettes, and cuffs of scarlet cashmere. A band of scarlet is also on the front of the waist. All the scarlet trimmings are ornamented by rows of narrow black braid. Clusters of the black braid are also arranged down the front of the waist. The buttons are of white pearl. This is a very convenient style of corsage for a school-girl. .. VOL. LXXIV.-6 Fig. 2.-Opera bonnet of the Ristori shape. The foundation, or shape, is covered with pink silk, over which white tulle and blonde are arranged. A pink silk ribbon with white blonde at both edges crosses the bonnet, and over the ribbon there is a garland of wild roses, which is continued as a Benoiton chain upon the strings. A cameo brooch is used for fastening the strings. 81 82 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Fig. 2. Ed Eup Fig. 3.- Bonnet of white velvet, edged with a feather band of scarlet and black; wide Fig. 3, leaves. The strings, which are of scarlet velvet, tie under the chignon at the back. Fig. 5. Bonne white satin strings pass over the top of the bonnet and tie under the chin. Fig. 4. Fig. 5.- Neapolitan hat of blue velvet, trimmed with a fall of rich black lace. Fig. 6. Fig. 4.-An opera bonuet of white crêpe, trimmed with a large tuft oi scarlet velvet NOVELTIES FOR JANUARY, 83 Fig. 7. Fig. 8. Fig. 6.—Brown velvet bonnet, studded with jet beads, and trimmed with lace and ribbon passing over the crown. Fig. 9. Fig. 7.—Peplum dress for evening wear. It is of white silk, bordered with scarlet velvet, and trimmed with cameos and gold acorns. Fig. 10 84 GODET'S LADY'S BOOK ASD MAGAZINE. Fig. 11. Fig. 8.- Dinner-dress of blue silk, made square, and triinued with a puffing of velvet. The waist is cut very short, and worn with a wide sash of blue velvet. Figs. 9 and 10.--- Promenade suit for a girl of eight years. Dress of scarlet cashmere, trimmed with black velvet. Gray cloth sack, omamented with black braid. Hat of black Velvet, trimmed with scarlet velret and a feather aigrette. Polish boots of black kid, finished with scarlet tassels. Fig. 11.- Alpaca dress for a little girl. It is made square in the neck, and finished on the edge of the skirt and corsage by scallops bound with velvet. ALPHABET FOR BEAD OR WORSTED WORK, a bodeig hik BVB Jor ODOXXOOR mooooo XXOXXOQOXXOXXOO00 XOOXXODEXXOXXOO0 XOXXQOC XXOXXO XOXXODO XOTXA XXXXoG Onxx 065XXO Teore XX OSOXXO OOOXX macet YOX 60OHOTO < XXXXXXXXXXX 에이​이이​이이​이이​이이​이이​이이 ​