it should be the large ones. Three lengths of wire (middle-sized),
measuring about four or five inches, must be cut off. A shell is
threaded on each wire, the wire folded double, a twist or two given to
it just to maintain the shell in its place, and then the double wire
wound round a good sized pin to give it that spiral form. The three,
when done, are bound together at the bottom for about a quarter of an
inch, and mounted on an inch or two of the coarsest wire.
In binding leaves, flowers, &c., the fine wire should not be cut off
until the leaf, or whatever it may be, is complete, as it is desirable
to avoid ends and roughnesses.
We could amplify these notices, but we consider that the engravings
will be sufficient to show our readers the kind of groups that can be
arranged, and suggest to inventive and tasteful minds a multitude of
other combinations.
With regard to their adjustment into sprays, or wreath, we can say but
little, because that is so much a matter of taste. A light and graceful
appearance should be aimed at, and the work neither crowded too closely
together, nor left too straggling. It will often be advisable to mount
a flower on a couple of inches of the coarse wire, in order to lengthen
the stem, and it may then be grouped with a bud, or with spiral shells;
but no rules can be laid down in an optional matter like this. The
foundation stem, or that from which all the sprays of the headdress
given at the commencement of this article, hangs, should be of double
coarse wire; and the stems of the sprays of single coarse wire. All are
to be bound on with the finest wire, and as neatly and as lightly as is
consistent with firmness.
Care must be taken not to tarnish the wire by too much handling,
especially with warm hands, or by unnecessary exposure to the
atmosphere. When not in use, the reels should always be kept enveloped
in silver paper.
The leaves of various sizes, the flowers of different kinds, and the
other portions, should be consigned each to the boxes appropriated for
them, as fast as they are made, and not all heaped together in one
inextricable mass.
In our next article we shall describe the "Composite Rice-Shell-Work,"
which will present to our lady pupils a variety of ornamental
arrangement.
This pleasing art is well worthy the pains and patience of all
"Who in work both _contentment_ and happiness find."
DRESS--AS A FINE ART.
BY MRS. MERRIFIELD.
REMARKS ON PARTICULAR COSTUMES.
We must now offer a few brief remarks upon certain costumes which
appear to us most worthy of our attention and study, for their general
elegance and adaptation to the figure. Of the modern Greek we have
already spoken. The style of dress which has been immortalized by
the pencil of Vandyck is considered among the most elegant that
has ever prevailed in this country. It is not, however, faultless.
The row of small curls round the face, how becoming soever to some
persons, is somewhat formal, and although the general arrangement of
the hair, which preserves the natural size and shape of the head, is
more graceful than that of the time of Sir Joshua Reynolds, we think
it would have been more pleasing had it left visible the line which
divides the hair from the forehead. With regard to the dress itself:
in the first place, the figures are spoiled by stays; secondly, the
dress is cut too low in front; and thirdly, the large sleeves sometimes
give too great width in front to the shoulders. These defects are, in
some degree, counterbalanced by the graceful flow of the ample drapery,
and of the large sleeves, which are frequently widest at their lower
part, and by the gently undulating line which unites the waist of the
dress with the skirt. The Vandyck dress, with its voluminous folds, is,
however, more appropriate to the inhabitants of palaces than to the
ordinary occupants of this working-day world. The drapery is too wide
and flowing for convenience.
Lely's half-dressed figures may be passed over without comment; they
are draped, not dressed. Kneller's are more instructive on the subject
of costume. The dress of Queen Anne, in Kneller's portrait, is graceful
and easy. The costume is a kind of transition between the Vandyck and
Reynolds styles. The sleeves are smaller at the shoulder than in the
former, and larger at the lower part than in the latter; in fact, they
resemble those now worn by the modern Greeks. The dress is cut higher
round the bust, and is longer in the waist than the Vandycks, while the
undulating line uniting the body and skirt is still preserved. While
such good examples were set by the painters--who were not, however, the
inventors of the fashions they painted--it is astonishing that these
graceful styles of dress should have been superseded in real life by
the lofty headdresses and preposterous fashions which prevailed during
the same period, and long afterwards, and which even the ironical and
severe remarks of Addison in the "Spectator" were unable to banish from
the circles of fashion. Speaking of the dresses of ladies during the
reigns of James II. and William III., Mr. Planché, in his History of
British Costume (p. 318), says: "The tower or commode was still worn,
and the gowns and petticoats flounced and furbelowed, so that every
part of the garment was in curl;" and a lady of fashion "looked like
one of those animals," says the "Spectator," "which in the country
we call a Friesland hen." But in 1711 we find Mr. Addison remarking:
"The whole sex is now dwarfed and shrunk into a race of beauties that
seems almost another species. I remember several ladies who were once
nearly seven feet high, that at present want some inches of five. How
they came to be thus curtailed, I cannot learn; whether the whole sex
be at present under any penance which we know nothing of, or whether
they have cast their headdresses in order to surprise us with something
in that kind which shall be entirely new: though I find most are of
opinion they are at present like trees lopped and pruned that will
certainly sprout up and flourish with greater heads than before."
The costume of the time of Sir Joshua Reynolds, as treated by this
great artist, though less splendid, appears to us, with the exception
of the headdress, nearly as graceful, and far more convenient than the
Vandyck dress. It is more modest, more easy, and better adapted to
show the true form of the shoulders, while the union of the body of
the dress with the skirt is effected in the same graceful manner as in
the Vandyck portraits. The material of the drapery in the latter is
generally silks and satins; of the former, it is frequently muslin, and
stuff of a soft texture, which clings more closely to the form. That
much of the elegance of both styles of dress is to be attributed to the
skill and good taste of the painters, is evident from an examination
of portraits by contemporary artists. Much also may be ascribed to the
taste of the wearer. There are some people who, though habited in the
best and richest clothes, never appear well-dressed; their garments,
rumpled and untidy, look as if they had been pitched on them, like hay,
with a fork; while others, whose dress consists of the most homely
materials, appear well-dressed, from the neatness and taste with which
their clothes are arranged.
Leaving now the caprices of fashion, we must notice a class of persons
who, from a religious motive, have resisted for two hundred years the
tyranny of fashion, and until recently have transmitted the same form
of dress from mother to daughter for nearly the same period of years.
The ladies of the Society of Friends, or as they are usually called
"Quakers," are still distinguished by the simplicity and neatness of
their dress--the quiet drabs and browns of which frequently contrast
with the richness of the material--and by the absence of all ornament
and frippery. Every part of their dress is useful and convenient; it
has neither frills nor flounces, nor trimmings to carry the dirt and
get shabby before the dress itself; nor wide sleeves to dip in the
plates, and lap up the gravy and sauces, nor artificial flowers, nor
bows of ribbons. The dress is long enough for decency, but not so long
as to sweep the streets, as many dresses and shawls are daily seen to
do. Some few years back, the Quaker ladies might have been reproached
with adhering to the letter, while they rejected the spirit of their
code of dress, by adhering too literally to the costume handed down to
them. The crowns of their caps were formerly made very high, and for
this reason it was necessary that the crowns of the bonnets should be
high enough to admit the cap crown; hence the particularly ugly and
remarkable form of this part of the dress. The crown of the cap has,
however, recently been lowered, and the Quaker ladies, with much good
sense, have not only modified the form of their bonnets, but also
adopted the straw and drawn-silk bonnet in their most simple forms. In
the style of their dress, also, they occasionally approach so near the
fashions generally worn, that they are no longer distinguishable by the
singularity of their dress, but by its simplicity and chasteness.
PREPARATIONS FOR COMPANY.
A hostess who wishes that her friends should enjoy their dinner, and
that she also should enjoy it with them, must see that all is ready and
at hand _before_ her guests arrive. If her servants are well trained,
and accustomed to do things regularly, _when_ there is _no_ company,
there will be little difficulty when there _is_; and if there is that
pleasant understanding between the head and the hands of the household
which should always exist, any casual mistake will easily be rectified;
an accident itself will occasion more fun than fuss; and although no
host and hostess should feel as unconcerned or indifferent at their
own table as elsewhere, the duty of seeing that nobody wants anything
will be manifestly a pleasant one, whilst the simple cordiality, which
delights in good appetites and cheerful countenances, and the domestic
order which is evidently, but unostentatiously, the presiding genius of
the family, will go far to enhance the flavor of the simplest fare.
A GREAT MULROONEY STORY.
ALL ABOUT TIM DELANEY. HOW HE WINT COORTIN' WID HIS MASTHER, AND THE
CONSEQUENCES.
BY SYLVANUS URBAN, THE YOUNGER.
"Wanst upon a time--an', sure, that's not so long ago, afther
all--there wor a grate fri'ndship betune the familees of the Sullivans
an' the O'Briens; but, by raison of their livin' a long ways apart,
they niver sot eyes on ache other for many's the year, though they
kep' up the ould good-will by writin' letthers back an' fore, wid the
shuperscupshins of, 'Yer humble sarvint to command, Murtoch O'Brien ma
bouchal,' or, 'May the heavins be yer bed, an' glory be wid ye, Dennis
Sullivan a hagur!'
"Well, the years rowled by, an', in the mane time, the sunshine lived
foriver in the house of Murtoch O'Brien, in the shape of a daughther
that bate the wureld for beauty; while Dinnis Sullivan wor prouder of
his son Maurice nor if he had found all the goold mines of Californy,
wid all the jooels of the Aist Injees to the top of 'em. Oh, faix,
but ye may be sartin that the ould min in their letthers gossipped
about the childher, an' that Misther O'Brien, bein' discinded from the
anshint kings of Munsther, belaved his daughther Norah the aquil of
any princess in Eurip and Aishey, lettin' alone the Turkeys and the
Roosthers--Rooshins, I mane--an' the Jarmans, an' the Frinch, an' all
the other haythens.
"Well, by coorse, by an' by, young Masther Maurice an' the butyful
Miss Norah wor conthracted thegither by the ould people; though, it's
the thruth I'm sayin', nayther of the youngsthers wor beknowin' to
it at all, until wan day, when Maurice wor near grown to be a man,
his fadher up an' tould him what he had done. 'Well an' good!' sez
Maurice, for he wor a mighty purty behaved young jintleman; an', wid
that, he crasses over the salt say into forrin parts, where he larned
to ate frogs in France, an' to sleep undher a feather bed in Jarmany,
wid his exthremities stickin' out. By an' by, whin he had finished his
eddicashin at the Jarman Univarsity, by dhrillin' a hole wid a small
sword through the arum of wan Count Dondher an' Blixum, an' by bein'
mortially wounded in his undher garmint hisself, Maurice thravels
back to the ould counthry. Oh, but Dinnis Sullivan wor mighty plased
to shake hands wid his darlin' boy agin! an' he grown so tall, an'
sthrong, an' manly like.
"'Maurice, avourneen!' sez his fadher, tindherly, 'seein' 'tis of age
ye are, an' may be I'll not be wid ye long, sure it 'u'd be plasin' me
to see yeez marri'd at wanst to Norah O'Brien,' sez he.
"'But how will I tell whether I'll like her or no?' sez Maurice,
dub'ously.
"'By raison that she's a hairess and a grate beauty,' sez the ould
jintleman.
"'Thim's good things in their way,' sez Maurice; 'but may be I'll be
ruinashin'd, afther all, wid the crooked timper.'
"'Make yerself parfaitly aisey on that score, Maurice ma bouchal,' sez
his fadher. 'Honey isn't swater, nor butther safter.'
"'May be 'tis too saft she is,' sez Maurice.
"'Tare an' ounties!' sez the ould jintleman, in a grate passion. 'What
'u'd yees like to have, I'd be plased to know? Isn't Murtoch O'Brien my
ould fri'nd, an' wan I niver had a quarrel wid in my life, batin' the
bottle he throw'd at my head at ould Thrinity, an' the bullet I lodged
in his side on the banks of the Liffey one morn? Sure, afther that
affeckshinate raymonsthrance we wor betther fri'nds nor iver we wor
before.'
"Well, by this an' by that, seein' the ould jintleman wor bint upon the
match, Maurice consints to ride over an' coort the young lady, purvided
he might take wid him his fostherer, wan Tim Delaney. Sure I know'd him
well, for he wor own cousin to myself by the mudher's side, an' he it
wor as tould me this sthory.
"'Take him by all manes,' sez the ould jintleman. 'I've not the laste
objeckshin. 'Tis a dacent lad he is, an' a betther face or a n'ater
figure, barrin' yer own, Maurice dear, there's not to be found in
all the county. He desarves to be put forrid in the wureld. He's not
althegither an' ignoraymus nayther,' sez he, 'for Fadher Doran thried
to bate the humanities into him for the matther of two saisons; an',
though he butthers his mattymatticks wid poetical conthribushins, an'
peppers an' salts the larned langwidges wid aljebrayickal calkilations,
there's a dale of larnin' in that head of his, av he only understhood
the manage of it.'
"So, wid that, Misther Maurice sed he wor contint, an', sendin' his
thrunk on afore him by the faymale stage, he"----
"Stop! stop! Mulrooney! I was not aware of any distinction between one
stage and another. Will you do me the favor to enlighten me?"
"Arrah now," said Peter, boldly, "don't I know the differ? Sure, if the
coaches as carries the letthers is the male stages, it stands to raison
thim as doesn't must be the faymales."
"Humph! Admirably defined! Well, go on."
"An' thin--an' thin--och, wirrasthrue! but I've lost the sthory
complately an' enthirely, by makin' a dickshunary of myself."
"Let me jog your memory, then. Maurice sent his trunk on before"----
"That's it," said Peter, "by the faymale stage, an' set out on
horseback wid hisself an' Tim, bright an' early the nixt morn, for
Carrigathroid. Well, they hadn't gone more nor a few miles, afore
little Micky Dunn, the stable boy, comes tearin' down the road to say
that the masther had been takin' suddintly wid a fit of the gout, an'
that Misther Maurice must go back an' attind the sale of Ned Ryan's
place, as the ould jintleman wanted it to square off the corner of the
upper farm.
"'Oh, musha, thin, but what'll I do?' sez Maurice. ''Tis unlucky to
turn back; an', besides, my thrunk is gone on afore, wid all the
b'utyful clothes in it I brought from France an' Jarmany.'
"'Faix, but that's bad!' sez Tim; 'an' I misthrustin' Andy Shehan, the
dhriver. May be 'tis betther I'd thravel on afther him?'
"''Deed an' 'deed, I think so,' sez Maurice. 'An' take this kay along
wid ye, Tim,' sez he, 'an' sarch if the things isn't spirited away,
or smashed up enthirely. An', Tim,' sez he, 'there's a letther of
interjuckshin in the thrunk which I want yees to deliver at wanst, for
fear the ould squireen'll be onaisey, as he expected me the day. An',
Tim,' sez he, lowerin' his voice, 'I'll be plased if ye'll take it to
Carrigathroid yerself, an' see if Miss Norah is half so purty an' good
as fadher sez she is.'
"'Why wouldn't she be,' sez Tim, 'if the masther sez so?'
"'Throth an' I dun 'no',' sez Maurice; 'but I'd like to larn that
aforehand from yer own lips, Tim, avick.'
"'Faix, that's aisey enough, I does be thinkin',' sez Tim. 'You folly
afther as quick as ye can, Misther Maurice; an', in the mane time,'
sez he, 'I'll pay my respicts to the family.'
"So, wid that, they took lave of one another, an' Tim thravelled on to
the town where the young masther's thrunk wor left, a bit mile or so
from O'Brien's, of Carrigathroid.
"'Where's the thrunk as wor left here by Andy Shehan?' sez he to the
woman of the stage-house.
"'Up stairs,' sez she, 'all safe an' sound.'
"'I'll see that,' sez he. An' up stairs he goes an' opens the thrunk,
an' looks over the clo'es, an' the dimont pins, and the goold watch,
an' the chains an' rings galore; an', sure enough, they wor all there
nate an' nice, as Ally Bawn said when the six childher fell into the
saft of the bog. Oh, murther, but now comes the sthrangest part of the
sthory. When Tim seen the things forenent him, an' how b'utyful they
wor, he begins to wondher how he'd look in thim; an' thin he looks at
his own coorse clothes, all plasthered and besmudthered over wid the
dirthy wather of the road.
"'How will I carry the masther's letther to the big house, an' I
lookin' for all the wureld like a dirthy bogthrotter?' sez he. 'Sure
I'd be shamefaced to show myself in dacent company. 'Tis a mighty fine
thing to be a jintleman,' sez he, lookin' at the thrunk ag'in. 'Oh,
but thim's the grand coats, an' pantalloons, an' goolden things,' sez
he; 'sure, I thinks the likes of 'em wor niver seed afore. May be,'
sez he, coagitatin' the matther--'may be Misther Maurice wouldn't be
onaisey if I loaned thim of him for a bit while, ispishilly as it's
his sarvice that I'll be on. Sure, 'tis no harum to thry if they fits
me,' sez he. An', begorra, afore he know'd it, he wor dhressed in thim
b'utyful garmints, an' lookin' grander nor iver he did in his mortial
life. Prisently, he flings back the dure, an' discinds the stairs wid
all the goold chains a danglin' about his neck, an' wid a fine goold
watch fasthened by a raal dimont pin to the breast of his flowery
silk weskit: 'For,' sez he, 'sure they wouldn't know I had sich purty
things, if I didn't show thim.'
"'Oh, but it does my heart good to see sich a han'some jintleman!' sez
the misthress of the house, makin' a low curchey. 'Didn't I know,' sez
she, 'yer honnor wor the raal quality the minnit I seen the shine of
yer face at the dure. Indade, an' faix, it's the thruth I'm sayin',
plase goodness.'
"'Arrah, now, be done wid yer blarney,' sez Tim, flourishin' a white
han'kercher as wor sthronger wid sint nor a flower-garden. 'Don't
conthaminate yer centhrifujals bu spakin' so odoriferously,' sez he;
'but tell me, like the dacent woman ye are, where'll I sarch for a
barber?'
"'That's aisey,' sez she; 'for sure there's wan next dure to the
corner.'
"So, wid that, out goes Tim, houldin' up his pantaloons wid both hands
to keep thim clane, an' prisently he steps in at the barber's shop as
bould as a lord.
"'Barber!' sez he.
"'Sir,' sez a little thin-shanked man.
"'Shave me,' sez Tim, settin' hisself down in the big chair, while the
little man wor sthrappin' away at the razhier. 'Aisey, my good man,'
sez Tim, 'an' cut the stubble clane.'
"'Oh, I'll do that same,' sez the barber. 'Be du husht, av ye plase.'
An', afore Tim could say Larry Houlaghan, his beard wor off.
"'Barber,' sez Tim.
"'Sir,' sez the little man.
"'Frizzle my head,' sez Tim.
"An', widout any ghosther at all, the spry little man pokes a long iron
thing into the fire.
"'Oh, murther!' sez Tim. 'What's that?'
"'Thim's the curlin'-tongs,' sez the barber.
"'Oh,' sez the cunnin' Tim, turnin' up his nose, 'thim's the ould time
fashion. May be ye niver seen the frizzlin' insthrument they use in
forrin parts?'
"'Sorra one have I seed, barrin' the masheen in my hand,' sez the
barber.
"''Tworn't to be expected of yees, in this outlandish place,' sez Tim.
"'Hould still, if ye pl'ase,' sez the barber, takin' a grip of his hair.
"'Ouch!' sez Tim. 'L'ave me go, will yees? By japurs, but 'tis pullin'
all my hair off ye are!'
"''Tisn't likely I'd do that, wid my exparience,' sez the little man.
'Sure, many's the quality I've dhressed the heads of in my day.' An',
wid that, he saizes hould of another lock of hair, an' gives it a grip
and a twist.
"'Tundher an' turf!' sez Tim, startin' up in a mighty big passion.
'Would ye burn my head aff afore my eyes? 'Tisn't a stuck pig I am that
ye're singein' for bacon,' sez he.
"'Musha, thin, but that's thrue, anyhow,' sez the barber. An' on he
wint, frizzlin' first one side and thin the other, till, by an' by,
Tim's head wor all over corkskrews, like a haythen naygur's.
"'How will I look?' sez Tim, goin' to a glass. 'Augh! millia! murther!
'Tisn't my own face that I see yondher?'
"''Deed but it is,' sez the barber.
"'Oh, wirrasthrue!' sez Tim, wringin' his hands. 'What'll I do? 'Tis
ruinashin'd I am, clane out an' inthirely! I'll be mistakin' myself for
a sthranger!'
"'Yea, thin,' sez the little man, 'there's no denyin' but yees
wondherfully improved in apparence.'
"'Botherashin!' sez Tim; 'but how will I raycognize myself, I'd like to
know?'
"Sure, but he had the throubled look whin he mounted his horse; but, by
the time he got to Carrigathroid, his spirits came back agin, an' he
fasthens the baste to the swingin' bough of a three, an' steps up to
the dure an' knocks as bould as Joolyus Saizer.
"'Hallo! House! Whoop!'
"'What's the matther, my good man?' sez a sarvant, answerin' the dure.
"'Matther?' sez Tim. 'Plinty's the matther. Here's a letther for
Misther O'Brien, wid the respicts of the owner.'
"'Yer name, sir, if ye pl'ase,' sez the man.
"'Tell him Misther Sullivan sint it,' sez Tim.
"'Oh!' sez the man, makin' a low bow. 'Obleege me by walkin' in; ye're
expicted.'
"An', wid that, he marches on afore, Tim followin' afther, an' flings
open the dure of a grand room all blazin' wid light, an' sings out--
"'Misther Sullivan!'
"'Oh, murther!' sez Tim to hisself. ''Tis changed I am by that
frizzlin' barbarian!'
"'Ah, my young fri'nd,' sez Misther O'Brien, takin' him by the
hand, ''tis pl'ased I am to see ye the day! Let me presint ye to my
daughther. Norah, mavourneen, this is Misther Maurice Sullivan.'
"'Och, the beauty of the wureld!' sez Tim, quite flusthrated. 'Call me
Delaney, av ye pl'ase.'
"'Ah, I undherstand,' sez the ould squireen, wid a smile. 'The Delaneys
is yer relashins.'
"Troth, an' indade they are,' sez Tim.
"'Thim's good blood, I does be thinkin',' sez the squireen.
"'Sorra betther to be found anywhere,' sez Tim.
"'I beg yer pardin, 'tis standin' ye are the while,' sez the ould
jintleman. 'Will ye take a sate on the ottimin?'
"'Sure, 'tisn't the grand Turkey ye mane?' sez Tim, gettin' frikened.
"'Oh no,' sez the ould jintleman; ''tis the fine flahool stool standin'
forenenst ye.'
"'Ayeh!' sez Tim. 'The ould name's the betther.'
"May be so,' sez the squireen, puttin' on his specktickles, an' starin'
at Tim as if he wor a wild baste. An' sorry I am to tell ye that purty
Miss Norah likewise hadn't no betther manners, but set starin' too at
the bouchal wid her great black eyes.
"'What's the matther?' sez Tim, as red as a b'iled lobsther. 'Isn't it
all right?'
"'How will I know?' sez the squireen.