With the spring-time, the city authorities are brushing the

pavements--very daintily--for the summer's campaign. Mr. Russ is

blockading the great thoroughfare, for a new fragment of his granite

road; and "May movings," on the very day this shall come to the eye of

our reader, will be disturbing the whole quiet of the metropolis. High

rents are making the sad burden of many a master of a household; and a

city paper has indulged in philosophical speculations upon the influence

of this rise in rent upon the matrimonial alliance. The matter is not

without its salient points for reflection. Young ladies, whose

extravagance in dress is promoting high prices of all sorts, must

remember that they are thereby cheapening their chances of a home and a

husband. The good old times, when a thousand or two thousand a year were

reckoned sufficient income for a city man to marry upon, and to bring up

such family as Providence vouchsafed him, are fast falling into the wake

of years.

A wife and a home are becoming great luxuries--not so much measured by

peace as by pence.

Would it not be well for domestically inclined clerks--whose rental does

not run to a large figure--to organize (in the way of the Building

Associations) cheap Marriage Associations? We do not feel competent to

suggest the details of such a plan, but throw out the hint for younger

men to act upon.

It is pleasant to fancy the "Special Notices" of the Tribune newspaper

lit up with such sparkling inducements for bachelors as these:

The BLOOMER MARRIAGE ASSOCIATION will hold its regular meeting on

Friday at half past seven. Those who appreciate the advantages of a

good wife, at small cost, with reliable men for trustees, will not

fail to attend. The stock is now nearly all taken. A few shares are

left. Several new names of modest and marriageable young

ladies--also two thriving widows with small families--are

registered upon the books of the Association. Every information

supplied.

JEDEDIAH RULETHEROOST, _Secretary_.

CHEAP WIVES for poor and deserving young men. The CAROLINE FRY

Marriage Association is the best and oldest of similar

organizations. Hundreds of young men are now in the enjoyment of

estimable partners for life, and all the endearments of the

domestic circle through the agency of this Association. Shares are

still to be sold, and the surplus of capital already amounts to the

incredible sum of fourteen thousand dollars.

Particular attention paid to proper matching of temperaments. Only

two unfortunate marriages have thus far been contracted under the

auspices of this Association. The best of medical advisers.

Remember the number, 220 Broadway.

SILAS WIDDERS, _Secretary_.

* * * * *

English Punch is busy nowadays in twisting the Jew locks of the new

leader in the House of Commons. The personal peculiarities of Mr.

Disraeli make him an easy subject for the artists of Fleet-street. We

shall expect, however, to see some rare debates led off by the

accomplished Hebrew. Disraeli has his weaknesses of manner and of

action; but he is a keen talker, and can make such show of brilliant

repartee as will terribly irk the leaders of the Left.

The Earl of Derby, notwithstanding his fine and gentlemanly bearing,

comes in for his share of the Punch caricature. Few British statesmen

are so accomplished and graceful speakers as the Earl of Derby; and,

with the burden of the Government upon his shoulders, to spur his

efforts, we shall confidently look for such strong pleading, as will

surpass any thing yet heard from Lord Stanley.

* * * * *

French talk is tired of political prognostic, and has yielded itself,

with characteristic indolence and _insouciance_, to the gayeties of the

_mi-caréme_. Balls have broken the solemnities of Lent, and a new drama

of the younger Dumas, which turns upon the life and fortunes of a

_courtisane_ of the last century, seems to chime with the humor of the

time.

The broidered coats are thickening under imperial auspices; and

Napoleon is winning a host of firm supporters among the broidering girls

of Nancy and of the metropolis. The Americans, it would seem, are doing

their part toward the festivities of the season; and forget Lent and

Republic, in the hilarity of balls and routs. An American club, holding

its meetings in the old saloon of Frascati, is among the _on dits_ of

the winter.

A proposition for shaving the beards of judges and advocates, has

wakened the apprehensions of all the benchers; and, in defense of their

old-time prerogatives, the subjects of the proposed edict have brought

to light an old pleading for their hirsute fancies, which may well have

its place.

The shaved chin is an incongruity as connected with the toga; the beard,

on the contrary, is in perfect keeping. If it had not existed by a wise

provision of Providence, it must have been invented. What more imposing

spectacle than a court rendering a solemn decree, in the presence of

both chambers--and what measure of authority would not the white beard

of the judge give to the sentence he pronounces!

If then, you have a real care for your dignity, oh magistrates, curb not

the flowing beard, but rather tempt its honors, with all the aids of

art. And if the eccentric sallies of some brother gownsman, or some

naïve testimony of an unkempt witness, put your gravity in peril, you

can laugh--in your beard. Thus nature will have her rights, and your

dignity rest unmolested.

We commend these opinions to their honors of the New York Bench; only

adding, that such aldermanic judges as are proof against wit--as they

are proof against sense, might yet value the beard to hide their

blushes.

* * * * *

All European travelers know the value and the awkwardness of passports,

and the importance of securing them _en regle_.

The Count B----, wishing latterly to pass into Austria with a domestic

and a favorite horse, sent to the legation for the necessary papers,

charging his secretary to see that all was in order.

"As to the domestic," said the official, "he will have a separate

passport; but there are some formalities as to the horse; we must have a

perfect description of him, to insert in the passport of his owner."

"Very good," said the secretary, "I will send the groom with it."

The embassador proceeded to fill up the passport: "We, Envoy

Extraordinary, &c., invite the civil and military authorities to allow

M. le Comte, with his horse, to pass, and in case of need, to render all

possible aid and assistance to ----"

Here occurred a blank, in view of the fact that the applicant might

possess either wife or family. The good embassador (whom it is

reasonable to suppose a bachelor) reckoning the horse equivalent to one

or the other--filled up the blank with the word "them."

The signature being appended, the task of filling up the description was

left to the _attaché_.

In due time the groom arrived. The sub-officia copied faithfully the

description of the count's gelding.

_Age_--three years and a half.

_Height_--fourteen hands.

_Hair_--dark sorrel.

_Forehead_--spotted with white.

_Eyes_--very lively.

_Nose_--broad nostrils.

_Mouth_--A little hard.

_Beard_--none (the count was a veritable Turk).

_Complexion_--none.

_Private marks_--ears very long; small star branded on the left thigh.

In course of time the count departed, his passport in the guardianship

of his accomplished secretary.

The frontier officers are not, travelers will remember, either very

brilliant men, or very witty men. They have a dull eye for a joke.

The count's passport was scrutinized severely; the description did not

accord accurately, in the opinion of the _sergent_ of police, with the

actual man. The _sergent_ pulled his mustache, looked wise--and put

Monsieur le Comte under arrest. The story about the horse was a poor

story. The _sergent_ was not to be outwitted in that fashion.

The consequence was a detention under guard for four days, until the

necessary explanations could be returned from Paris, and the _sergent_

be fully persuaded that the description attached to the count's horse,

and not to some dangerous political refugee.

* * * * *

Under the head of "Touching Matrimonial Confidence," a French provincial

paper gives the following: A certain Gazette of Auvergne published, a

few days since, this notice (not unknown to our newspaper annals):

"No person will give credit to the woman

Ursula-Veronica-Anastasia-Cunegonde Piot--my wife, as I shall pay

no debts of her contracting."

The same Gazette published, a few days after, the following rejoinder

(which we commend to all wives similarly situated):

"Monsieur Jerome Barnabas, my husband, could have spared himself

the trouble of his late notice.

"It is not to be supposed that I could get credit on his account;

for, since he pays no debts of his own, nobody would count on him

to pay any debts of mine.

"FEMME BARNABAS--NEE PIOT."

We should not be greatly surprised if the precedent here afforded,

should lead to a new column of city advertisements.

* * * * *

_Apropos_ of the late balls in Paris, a very good story is told of a

bouncing student at law (with rooms and _ménage_ in the quarter of the

Pantheon), who recently made his _débût_, under the auspices of his

father, at a ball of the Chaussée d'Antin.

His father, a stout provincial, but bolstered into importance by a fat

vineyard, and wine cellars to match, insisted upon introducing his son

to the high life of the capital. The son declined, urging that he did

not dance (the truth being that his familiarity was only with the

exceptional dances of the _Chaumière_ and such grisette quarters).

"_Mon Dieu_--not dance!" said the old gentleman.

"_Oui_--after a fashion, but in a way not appreciated, I fear, in such

salons."

The old gentleman chuckled over his son's modesty--he could imagine it

nothing else--and insisted upon the venture. The student was a guest;

but determined to keep by the wall, as a spectator of the refined

gallopades of the quarter d'Antin. The first look, however, at the salon

polka plunged him into a profound reverie. Was it indeed true that he

was in the elegant saloon of the _Marquise_ M----? thought he, gaining

courage.

It was his method precisely--the very dance that Amy had taught

him--practiced with all their picturesque temerity. Sure of his power,

and using all the art of the _Mabile_, he gave himself up to two hours

of most exhilarating pastime.

"They have calumniated the _beau monde_," mused he in leaving. "I find

it very entertaining. Our dances are not only understood, but

cultivated--practiced; and, _ma foi_, I rather prefer handling these

countesses, to those very greedy grisettes."

Our brave student at law might possibly find his paces as well

understood, in some American saloons as in those of the Chausée d'Antin!

* * * * *

We close our long chat for the month with a little whimsicality of

travel, which comes to us in the letter of a friend.

Major M'Gowd was of Irish extraction (which he denied)--had been in the

English service (which he boasted), and is, or was two years ago,

serving under the Austrian flag.

He was not a profound man; but, as majors go, a very good sort of major,

and great disciplinarian--as the following will show:

You have seen the Austrian troops in review, and must have noticed the

curious way in which their cloaks are carried around their necks, making

the poor fellows look like the Vauxhall showman, looking out from the

folds of a gigantic anaconda.

On one occasion, the major, being officer of the day, observed a soldier

with his cloak lying loosely upon his arm.

"Where's your cloak, rascal?" was the major's peremptory demand.

"Here, sir," was the reply.

"What's the use of a cloak if it's not rolled up?" thundered the major;

and the poor scamp was sent to the lock-up.

Thus much for the major's discipline. But like most old officers of no

great depth of brain, the major had his standard joke, which had gone

the rounds of a hundred mess-tables. Latterly, however, he had grown coy

of a repetition, and seems to cherish a suspicion that he has not cut so

good a figure in the story as he once imagined.

A little after-dinner mellowness, however, is sure to bring the major to

his trump card, and in knowledge of this, Ned and myself (who had never

heard his story), one day tempted the major's appetite with some very

generous Tokay.

Major M'Gowd bore up, as most old officers are able to do, to a very

late hour, and it was not till eleven that he seemed fairly kindled.

"Well, major, now for the story," said we.

"Ah, boys, it won't do" (the major looked smilingly through his glass),

"it was really too bad."

"Out with it, major," and after as much refusing and urging as would

seat half the girls in New York at the piano, the old gentleman opened:

"It's too bad, boys; it was the most cutting, sarcastic thing that

perhaps ever was heard. You see, I was stationed at Uxbridge; you know

Uxbridge, p'raps--situated on a hill. I was captain, then; young and

foolish--very foolish. I wrote poetry. I couldn't do it now. I never

have since; I wish I hadn't _then_. For, do you see, it was the most

cruel, cutting thing--"

The major emptied his glass.

"Go on, major," said Ned, filling for him again.

"Ah, boys--sad work--it cut him down. I was young, as I said--stationed

at Uxbridge--only a captain then, and wrote poetry. It was there the

thing happened. It's not modest to say it, but really, a more cutting

thing--fill up your glasses, my boys.

"I became acquainted with a family of the name of Porter--friends of the

colonel; pray remember the name--Porter. There was a daughter, Miss

Porter. Keep the name in mind, if you please. Uxbridge, as you know, is

situated on a hill. About fifteen miles away was stationed another

regiment. Now, a young officer of this regiment was very attentive to

Miss Porter; don't forget the name, I beg of you.

"He was only a lieutenant, a second son--nothing but his pay to live on;

and the old people did not fancy his attentions, being, as I said,

second son, lieutenant; which was very sensible in them.

"They gave him a hint or two, which he didn't take. Finally they applied

to me, Captain M'Gowd, at that time, begging me to use my influence in

the matter. I had not the pleasure of acquaintance with the lieutenant;

though, apart from his being second son, lieutenant, small pay, &c., I

knew nothing in the world against the poor fellow.

"The more's the pity, boys; as I had no right to address him directly on

the subject, I determined to hit him off in a few lines of poetry--those

fatal, sarcastic lines!" sighed the major, finishing his glass.

"I had the reputation of being witty, and a poet; and though I say it

myself--was uncommonly severe.

"They commenced in this way," (the major threw himself into attitude.)

"The other day to Uxbridge town--

"You recollect the circumstance--I was at Uxbridge--young and

foolish--had made the acquaintance of the Porters (remember the

name)--young lieutenant was attentive to Miss Porter (lively girl was

Mary Jane); poor, second son, not agreeable to old people, who, as I

told you, called on me to settle the matter. So I wrote the

lines--terribly sarcastic:

"The other day to Uxbridge town--

now you're coming to it--

"A major (he was lieutenant, you know) of dragoons (he was in the

infantry) came down (Uxbridge is on a hill). It was a very sarcastic

thing, you see.

"The other day to Uxbridge town

A major of dragoons came down--

now for the point, my boys,

"The reason why he came down here

'Twas said he had--

You remember the name--Porter, and how I was at Uxbridge, situated on a

hill, was Captain M'Gowd, then--young lieutenant, &c., devilish severe

verses--but now mind--here they are:

"The other day to Uxbridge town

A major of dragoons came down,

The reason why he came down here

'Twas said he had a love (remember the name) for--Beer!"

If you have never heard a maudlin, mess-table story, told over the sixth

bottle, you have at the least, read one.

Editor's Drawer.

The readers of the "Drawer" will be amused with a forcible picture,

which we find in our collection, of the ups-and-downs of a strolling

player's life. One would think such things enough to deter young men and

women from entering upon so thorny a profession. "In one of the writer's

professional excursions," runs our extract, "his manager finds himself

in a woeful predicament. His pieces will not 'draw' in the quiet New

England village where he had temporarily 'set up shop;' he and his

company are literally starving; the men moodily pacing the stage; the

women, who had kept up their spirits to the last, sitting silent and

sorrowful; and the children, little sufferers! actually crying for food.

"I saw all this," says the manager, "and I began to feel very suicidal.

It was night, and I looked about for a rope. At length I spied just what

I wanted. A rope dangled at the prompt-side, and near a steep flight of

stairs which led to a dressing room. '_That's_ it!' said I, with gloomy

satisfaction: 'I'll mount those stairs, noose myself, and drop quietly

off in the night; but first let me see whether it is firmly fastened or

no.'

"I accordingly approached, gave a pull at the rope, when '_whish!

whish!_' I found I had set the rain a-going. And now a thought struck

me. I leaped, danced, and shouted madly for joy.

"'Where did you get your liquor from?' shouted the 'walking-gentleman'

of the company.

"'He's gone mad!' said Mrs. ----, principal lady-actress of the corps.

'Poor fellow!--hunger has made him a maniac. Heaven shield _us_ from a

like fate!'

"'Hunger!' shouted I, 'we shall be hungry no more! Here's food from

above (which was _literally_ true), manna in the wilderness, and all

that sort of thing. We'll feed on rain; we'll feed on rain!'

"I seized a hatchet, and mounting by a ladder, soon brought the rain-box

tumbling to the ground.

"My meaning was now understood. An end of the box was pried off, and

full a bushel of dried beans and peas were poured out, to the delight of

all. Some were stewed immediately, and although rather hard, I never

relished any thing more. But while the operation of cooking was going on

below, we amused ourselves with parching some beans upon the

sheet-iron--the 'thunder' of the theatre--set over an old furnace, and

heated by rosin from the lightning-bellows.

"So we fed upon rain, cooked by thunder-and-lightning!"

There is nothing in the history of IRVING'S "Strolling Player" more

characteristic of his class than the foregoing; and there is a

_verisimilitude_ about the story which does not permit us to doubt its

authenticity. It is too natural _not_ to be true.

* * * * *

Think of a patent-medicine vender rising at the head of his table, where

were assembled some score or two of his customers, and proposing such a

toast as the following:

"Gentlemen: allow me to propose you a sentiment. When I mention

_Health_, you will all admit that I allude to the greatest of sublunary

blessings. I am sure then that you will agree with me that we are all

more or less interested in the toast that I am about to prescribe. I

give you, gentlemen,

"PHYSIC, and much good may it do us!"

This sentiment is "drunk with all the honors," when a professional

Gallenic vocalist favors the company with the annexed song:

"A BUMPER of Febrifuge fill, fill for me,

Give those who prefer it, Black Draught;

But whatever the dose a strong one it must be,

Though our last dose to-night shall be quaffed.

And while influenza attacks high and low,

And man's queerest feelings oppress him,

Mouth-making, nose-holding, round, round let I go,

Drink our Physic and Founder--ugh, bless him."

* * * * *

The reader may have heard a good deal from the poets concerning "_The

Language of Flowers_;" but here is quite a new dialect of that

description, in the shape of mottos for different fruits and vegetables

in different months:

_Motto for the Lilac in April_: "Give me leave."

_For the Rose in June_: "Well, I'm blowed!"

_For the Asparagus in July_: "Cut and come again."

_For the Marrowfat Pea in August_: "Shell out!"

_For the Apple in September_: "Go it, my Pippins!"

_For the Cabbage in December_: "My heart is sound: my heart is my own."

* * * * *

Now that "shads is come;" now that lamb has arrived, and green peas may

soon be looked for; now that asparagus is coming in, and poultry is

going out, listen to _the Song of the Turkey_, no longer seen hanging by

the legs in the market, and rejoice with him at his emancipation:

"The season of Turkeys is over!

The time of our danger is past:

'Tis the turn of the wild-duck and plover,

But the Turkey is safe, boys, at last!

"Then hobble and gobble, we'll sing, boys,

No longer we've reason to fear;

Who knows what a twelvemonth will bring, boys,

Let's trust to the chance of the year!

"The oyster in vain now may mock us,

Its sauce we can proudly disdain;

No sausages vulgar shall shock us,

We are free, we are free from their chain!

"Then hobble and gobble, we'll sing, boys,

No longer we've reason to fear;

Who knows what a twelvemonth will bring, boys.

Let's trust to the chance of the year!

"What matters to you and to me, boys,

That one whom we treasured when young,

With a ticket, "Two dollars! look here!" boys,

In a poulterer's window was hung!

"Then hobble and gobble, we'll sing, boys,

No longer we've reason to fear;

Who knows what a twelvemonth will bring, boys,

Let's trust to the chance of the year!

"Then mourn not for friends that are eaten,

A drum-stick for care and regret!

Enough that, the future to sweeten,

Our lives are not forfeited yet!

"Then hobble and gobble, we'll sing, boys,

No longer we've reason to fear;

Who knows what a twelvemonth will bring, boys,

Let's trust to the chance of the year!"

* * * * *

Somewhat curious, if true, is an anecdote which is declared to be

authentic, and which we find among the _disjecta membra_ of our

_ollapodrida_:

Lieutenant Montgomery had seen much military service. The wars, however,

were over; and he had nothing in the world to do but to lounge about, as

best he could, on his half-pay. One day he was "taking his ease in his

inn," when he observed a stranger, who was evidently a foreigner, gazing

intently at him. The lieutenant appeared not to notice him, but shifted

his position. After a short time the stranger shifted _his_ position

also, and still stared with unblemished, unabated gaze.

This was too much for Montgomery. He rose, and approaching his

scrutinizing intruder, said:

"Do you _know_ me, sir?"

"I think I do," answered the foreigner. (He was a Frenchman.)

"Have we ever met before?" continued Montgomery.

"I will not swear for it; but if we have--and I am almost _sure_ we

have," said the stranger, "you have a sabre-cut, a deep one, on your

right wrist."

"I have," said Montgomery, turning back his sleeve, and displaying a

very broad and ugly scar. "I didn't get this for nothing, for the brave

fellow who made me a present of it I repaid with a gash across the

skull!"

The Frenchman bent down his head, parted his hair with his hands, and

said:

"You did: you may look at the receipt."

The next moment they were in each other's arms.

Now this story _seems_ a little problematical; and yet it is vouched for

on what ought to be considered reliable authority. In short, it is

_true_ in every respect.

* * * * *

Some ambitious juvenile once sung, with an aspiration "peculiar to our

institutions,"

"I wish I was the President

Of these United States,

I never would do nothing

But swing on all the gates."

He little knew the miseries, the ennui, the mental dyspepsia, which

afflicts the wretch who has nothing to do. One of these unhappy mortals

it is, who says, in the bitterness of his spirit:

"Sir, I have no books, and no internal resources. I can not draw, and if

I could, there's nothing that I want to sketch. I don't play the flute,

and if I did there's nobody that I should like to have listen to me. I

never wrote a tragedy, but I think I am in that state of mind in which

tragedies are written. Any thing lighter is out of the question. I

whistle four hours a day, yawn five, smoke six, and sleep the rest of

the twenty-four, with a running accompaniment of swearing to all these

occupations except the last, and I'm not quite sure that I don't

sometimes swear in my dreams.

"In one word, sir, I'm getting desperate, for the want of _something to

do_."

* * * * *

There is a good deal of humor in the sudden contrast of sentiment and

language exhibited in the verses below. They purport to be the

tragi-comical tale of a deserted sailor-wife, who, with a baby in her

arms, comes often to a rock that overlooks the main, to catch, if

possible, a glimpse of a returning sail. At length, in despair, she

throws her infant into the sea:

"A gush of tears fell fast and warm,

As she cried, with dread emotion,

Rest, baby! rest that fairy form

Beneath the rush of ocean;

'Tis calmer than the world's rude storm,

And kinder--I've a notion!

* * * * *

"Now oft the simple country folk

To this sad spot repair,

When wearied with their weekly yoke,

They steal an hour from care;

And they that have a pipe to smoke,

They go and smoke it there!

"When soon a little pearly bark

Skims o'er the level brine,

Whose sails, when it is not too dark,

With misty brightness shine:

Though they who these strange visions mark

Have sharper eyes than mine!

"And, beauteous as the morn, is seen

A baby on the prow,

Deck'd in a robe of silver sheen,

With corals round his brow--

A style of head-dress not, I ween,

Much worn by babies now!"

What somebody of the transcendental school of these latter days calls

the "element of unexpectedness," is very forcibly exemplified by the

writer from whom we have quoted.

* * * * *

We have often laughed over the following scene, but couldn't tell where

it is recorded to save our reputation for "general knowledge." All that

we _do_ know is, that it is a clever sketch by a clever writer

_whoever_ he may be. The scene is a military station; and it should be

premised that a certain surly, ill-tempered major, whose wife and sister

are in the habit of visiting him at the barracks, gives orders, out of

spite to subordinate officers, whose families have hitherto enjoyed the

same privilege, that "no females are to be allowed in barracks after

tattoo, under any pretense whatever:"

"It so happened that the morning after this announcement appeared in the

order-book, an old lieutenant, who might have been the major's

grandfather, and whom we used to call "The General," on account of his

age and gray hairs, was the officer on duty. To the sergeant of the

guard "the General" gave the necessary orders, with strict injunctions

to have them obeyed to the letter.

"Shortly after tattoo, sundry ladies, as usual, presented themselves at

the barrack-gate, and were, of course, refused admission; when, to the

surprise of the sentinel on duty, the major's lady and sister-in-law

made their appearance, and walked boldly to the wicket, with the

intention of entering as usual. To their utter astonishment, the sentry

refused them permission to pass. The sergeant was called, but that

worthy was quite as much of a precisian as the ladies, and his

conscience would not permit him to let them in.

"'Do you know who we are, sir?' asked the major's lady, with much

asperity of voice and manner.

"'Oh, sartingly; I knows your ladyships wery well.'

"'And pray, what do you mean, sir, by this insolence?'

"'I means no imperance whatsomdever, marm; but my orders is partickler,

to let no female ladies into this here barracks a'ter tattoo, upon no

account whatever; and I means for to obey my orders without no mistake.'

"'Then you have the effrontery, do you, to refuse admittance to the lady

of your commanding officer?' screamed the Honorable Mrs. Snooks.

"'And her sister!' joined in the second lady.

"'Most sartingly, marm,' replied the non-commissioned officer, with

profound gravity: 'I knows my duty, marm.'

"'Good gracious, what assurance!' exclaimed both ladies in a breath.

"'No insurance at all, marm: if your ladyships was princesses, you

couldn't come in after tattoo; my orders is partikler!'

"'Don't you know, stupid, that these orders can not be intended to apply

to _us_?'

"'I doesn't know nuffin about _that_, my lady: all I know is, that

orders is _orders_, and must be obeyed.'

"'Impudence!'

"'Imperance or no imperance, I must do my duty; and I can tell your

ladyships if my superior officers was for to give me orders not to let

in the major himself, I would be obligated for to keep him off at the

p'int of the bay'net!'

"The officer of the guard was sent for, and the officer of the guard

sent for the orderly-book, which, by the light of the guard-room

lantern, was exhibited to the ladies by 'the General,' in justification

of his apparent rudeness."

It might, doubtless, have been added, that the effect of such a lesson

upon the major, was of a salutary nature; for the chalice was commended

to his own lips, which he had prepared for others, in downright earnest.

* * * * *

These lines, from the pen of a Southern poet, are very tender and

touching. They were printed some ten years since:

"My little girl sleeps on my arm all night,

And seldom stirs, save when, with playful wile,

I bid her rise and place her lips to mine,

Which in her sleep she does. And sometimes then,

Half-muttered in her slumbers, she affirms

Her love for me is boundless. And I take

The little bud and close her in my arms;

Assure her by my action--for my lips

Yield me no utterance then--that in my heart

She is the treasured jewel. Tenderly,

Hour after hour, without desire of sleep,

I watch above that large amount of hope,

Until the stars wane, and the yellow morn

Walks forth into the night."

* * * * *

In the final disposition of his characters, DICKENS excels any living

author. There is no confusion--no infringement of the natural. In

"Barnaby Rudge," for example, the old lethargic inn-keeper, Willett,

retiring in his dotage, and with his ruling passion strong upon him,

scoring up vast imaginary sums to imaginary customers, and the lament of

the elder Weller at the death of good old Master Humphrey, are not only

characteristic, they are perfect specimens of their kind. "And the sweet

old creetur," says the elder Weller "has bolted. Him as had no wice, and

was so free from temper that an infant might ha' drove 'im, has been

took at last with that ere unawoidable fit of the staggers, as we must

all come to, and gone off his feed forever!" "I see him," continues the

old stage-coach driver, "I see him gettin' every journey more and more

groggy. I says to Samivel, says I, 'Samivel, my boy, the Gray's a-going

at the knees;' and now my predilection is fatally werified; and him as I

could never do enough to serve or to show my likin' for, is up the great

uniwersal spout o' natur'!"

* * * * *

It is poor Tom Hood, if we have not forgotten, who describes a species

of "Statistical Fellows" as

----"A prying, spying, inquisitive clan,

Who jot down the laboring classes' riches,

And after poking in pot and pan,

And routing garments in want of stitches,

Have ascertained that a working man

Wears a pair and a half of average breeches!"

Of this kind was the "Scientific Ass-sociate" mentioned in the "Table

Talk of the late John Boyle." The Professor is setting forth one of his

"various important matters connected with every-day life." The learned

gentleman spoke of shaving as follows:

"The mode of shaving differs in different individuals. Some are very

close shavers; others are greater adepts at cutting unpleasant

acquaintances than themselves. It is, however, most important that the

art of shaving should be reduced to a nicety, so that a man can cut his

beard with the same facility as he could cut his stick. It is also of

consequence that an accurate calculation should be made of the number of

shaving brushes and the number of half pounds of soap used in the course

of the year by respectable shavers, for I have observed that some of

them are very badly off for soap. There is also a very great variation

in the price of labor. Some barbers undertake to shave well for

threepence; others charge a much higher sum. This is probably the effect

of competition; and I must say, that the Government deserves well of the

country for not encouraging any monopoly. At the same time there is a

looseness in the details of the profession, which I should like to see

corrected. An accurate register ought to be kept of the number of

individuals who shave themselves, and of those who shave daily, every

other day, and once a week only. We can hardly contemplate the immense

benefits which science would reap, if such matters as these were

properly attended to!"

Who has not seen just such statistics as these dwelt upon with unction

by your thorough "statist?"

* * * * *

Never forget this "_Receipt of Domestic Economy_." When you have paid a

bill, always _take_, and _keep_, a receipt of the same:

"O, fling not the receipt away,

Given by one who trusted thee;

Mistakes will happen every day.

However honest folks may be;

And sad it is, oh, _twice_ to pay,

So cast not thy receipt away!

"Ah, yes; if e'er in future hours,

When we this bill have all forgot,

They send it in _again_! ye powers!

And swear that we have paid it not;

How sweet to know, on such a day,

We've never cast receipts away!"

* * * * *

The following is one of the pen-and-ink portraits that have found their

way into the "Drawer." The sitter was a subject of our own Gotham.

"He was a Scotchman by birth, and had, without exception, the ugliest

face I ever saw on a man's shoulders, or a monkey's either, for that

matter. But by a perversity of taste, not unusual in the world, the man

made a complete hobby of his 'mug,' homely as it was; and was full of

the conceit that on fit occasions he could summon to it a look of

terrible and dignified sarcasm, that was more efficacious than words or

blows. He was rather insolent in his deportment, and was consequently

continually getting into scrapes with some one or other, in which he

invariably got the worst of it; because instead of lifting his hand, and

giving blow for blow, he always trusted to the efficacy of his _look_.

His various little mishaps he used to relate to his fellow-boarders at

meal-times, always concluding his narrations with, 'But didn't I give

the dirty rapscallions one o' my _looks_?' And then twisting his 'ugly

mug' into a shape impossible to be described, he fancied he had

convinced his hearers that his antagonists, whoever they were, would be

in no hurry to meddle with _him_ again!

"The last time I saw him, he was giving an account of an insult he had

received the night before at some porter-house in the neighborhood,

where a little fellow, who was a perfect stranger to him, had insisted

upon drinking at his expense, and who, when he refused to pay for the

liquor, had not only abused him most shamefully with his tongue, but had

actually _kicked_ him.

"'Kick you!' exclaimed a fellow-boarder.

"'Yes!' said he, growing warm with the recital; 'he kicked me here!' and

he laid his hand on that portion of his valorous person that had come in

contact with the stranger's boot.

"'And what did you say to _that_?' asked a second listener.

"'What did I _say_ to it?' he replied, as if astonished that any body

should be ignorant of his invariable rejoinder to similar assaults.

'What did I _say_? I said nothing at all. The kick was but a soft one,

and the fellow that gave it a wee bit of a 'jink-ma-doddy,' that I could

have throttled with one hand on the spot. But I just contented myself

with giving him one of my looks!'

"Here Sawney 'defined his position' to the company, by giving them one

of his awful glances. But _this_ time he managed to convey an expression

of ugliness and comicality so far beyond any thing he had ever called

up before, that the inference was irresistible that the kick he had

received must have been a good deal harder than he was willing to

acknowledge."

* * * * *

Any man or woman walking up or down the sunny side of Broadway, on a

pleasant summer day, will see various little bipeds, with thin legs,

faded countenances, and jaded air, flourishing little canes, who may,

perhaps, bring to mind the following lines:

"Some say there's nothing made in vain,

While others the reverse maintain,

And prove it, very handy,

By citing animals like these--

Musquitoes, bed-bugs, crickets, fleas,

And, worse than all--A DANDY!"

But Nature, as the poet adds, "never made a dandy;" he was cast in a

fictitious mould altogether.

* * * * *

There is something not over-complimentary to us, magazine-editors, in

the remonstrance which "Chawls Yellowplush" makes to his employer

against his discharging him from his employ, because he has ascertained

that he writes in magazines, and other periodicals:

"'Sir,' says I, claspink my 'ands, and bursting into tears, 'do not, for

Eving's sake, do not think of anythink of the sort, or drive me from

your service, because I have been fool enough to write in magazeens!

Glans but one moment at your honor's plate; every spoon is as bright as

a mirror; condescend to igsamine your shoos; your honor may see

reflected in them the faces of every one in the company. If occasionally

I've forgot the footman in the lit'ry man, and committed to paper my

remindicences of fashionable life, it was from a sinsear desire to do

good and promote nollitch; and I apeal to your honor--I lay my hand on

my busm, and in the face of this honorable company, beg you to say--when

you rung your bell, who came to you first? When you stopt out till

mornink, who sat up for you? When you was ill, who forgot the nat'ral

dignities of his station, and answered the two-pair bell? Oh, sir,' says

I, 'I knows what's what: don't send me away! I know them lit'ry chaps,

and, bleave me, I'd rather be a footman. The work is not so hard--the

pay is better--the vittels incompyrably shuperiour. I've but to clean my

things, run my errints, you put clothes on my back, and meat in my

mouth.'"

This was written by one who was himself, in his own person, an admirable

illustration of what success and honor a _true_ literary man is capable

of achieving; but Yellowplush's "lit'ry men" were of a different

calibre.

* * * * *

The learned "science-women" of the day, the "deep, deep-blue stockings"

of the time, are fairly hit off in the ensuing satirical sonnet:

I idolize the LADIES! They are fairies,

That spiritualize this world of ours;

From heavenly hot-beds most delightful flowers,

Or choice cream-cheeses from celestial dairies,

But learning, in its barbarous seminaries,

Gives the dear creatures many wretched hours,

And on their gossamer intellect sternly showers

SCIENCE, with all its horrid accessaries.

Now, seriously, the only things, I think,

In which young ladies should instructed be,

Are--stocking-mending, love, and cookery!--

Accomplishments that very soon will sink,

Since Fluxions now, and Sanscrit conversation,

Always form part of female education!

Something good in the way of inculcation may be educed from this rather

biting sonnet. If woman so far forgets her "mission," as it is common to

term it nowadays, as to choose those accomplishments whose only

recommendation is that they are "the vogue," in preference to

acquisitions which will fit her to be a better wife and mother, she

becomes a fair subject for the shafts of the satirical censor.

* * * * *

The following bit of gossip is especially "Frenchy," and will remind the

readers of "The Drawer" of the man described by the late ROBERT C.

SANDS, who sued for damages in a case of breach-of-promise of marriage.

He was offered two hundred dollars to heal his breaking heart. "Two

hundred dollars!" he exclaimed; "two hundred dollars for ruined

hopes--for blighted affection--for a wretched existence--a blasted life!

Two hundred dollars! for all this!! No--never! _Make it three hundred,

and it's a bargain!_" But to the French story:

"A couple very well known in Paris are at present arranging terms of

separation, to avoid the scandal of a judicial divorce. A friend has

been employed by the husband to negotiate the matter. The latest mission

was in relation to a valuable ring given to the husband by one of the

then sovereigns of Europe, and which he wished to retain. For this he

would make a certain much-desired concession, The friend made the

demand--

"What!" said the indignant wife, "do you venture to charge yourself with

such a mission to _me_! Can you believe that I could tear myself from a

gift which alone recalls to me the day when my husband loved me? No:

this ring is my only _souvenir_ of a happiness, now, alas! forever

departed! 'Tis all that I now possess of a once-fond husband!"

Here she threw herself upon a _fauteuil_, and covered her face with her

hands.

But the husband's friend insisted. The lady supplicated--grew

desperate--threatened to submit to a public divorce, as a lesser evil

than parting with that cherished ring--and at last confessed that she

had--_sold the ring six months before!_

Wasn't _that_ a climax?

* * * * *

A very quaint and pretty scrap of verse is this, from the old German:

"Should you meet my true love,

Say, I greet her well;

Should she ask you how I fare,

Say, she best can tell.

"Should she ask if I am sick,

Say, I died of sorrow;

Should she then begin to weep,

Say, I'll come to-morrow!"

* * * * *

It has been thought strange, that when a malefactor is executed at "_The

Tombs_," that curiosity should be excited to know how the unfortunate

wretch behaved at the last, and at the same time great anxiety is

manifested to obtain the slightest relic connected with his ignominious

death. This propensity is well hit off in the following episode in the

life of "_A Criminal Curiosity-Hunter_." A friend visits him, and he

thus describes the interview:

"He received me with extreme urbanity, and asked me to sit down in an

old-fashioned arm-chair. I did so.

"'I suppose, sir,' said he, with an air of suppressed triumph, 'that you

have no idea that you are now sitting in a very remarkable chair!'

"I assured him that I was totally unconscious of the fact.

"'Let me tell you, then,' said he, 'that it was in that chair that

Fauntleroy, the banker, who was hanged for forgery, was sitting when he

was arrested!'

"'Indeed!'

"'Fact, sir! I gave ten guineas for it! I thought, also, to have

obtained the night-cap in which he slept the night before his execution,

but another collector was beforehand with me, and bribed the turnkey to

steal it for him.'

"'I had no idea,' I said, 'that there could be any competition for such

an article.'

"'Ah, sir!' said he, with a deep sigh, 'you don't know the value of

these interesting relics. I have been upward of thirty years a collector

of them. When a man devotes himself to a great object, he must go to it

heart and soul. I have spared neither time nor money in _my_ pursuit;

and since I became a collector I have attended the execution of every

noted malefactor throughout the kingdom.'

"Perceiving that my attention was drawn to a common rope which served as

a bell-pull, he said to me:

"'I see you are remarking my bell-cord; that is the identical rope, sir,

which hanged Bellingham, who murdered Mr. Perceval in the House of

Commons. I offered any sum for the one in which Thistlewood ended his

life, to match it, but I was disappointed.... The Whigs, sir, have swept

away all our good old English customs, and deprived us of our national

recreations. I remember, sir, when Monday was called 'hanging-day' at

the Old Bailey; on that morning a man might be certain of seeing three

or four criminals swung off before breakfast.'"

The criminal curiosity-hunter now takes his friend into an adjoining

room, where he shows him his general museum of curiosities, comprising

relics of every grade of crime, from murder to petty larceny; among them

a door-mat made of oakum picked by a "lady"-culprit while in the

penitentiary; a short clay-pipe, once in the possession of Burke, the

wholesale murderer; and the _fork_ belonging to the _knife_ with which

some German had cut his wife's and children's throats!

* * * * *

"Misery," it is said, "loves company." What a juvenile "company," when

the last thaw came--(and so many came, after what was supposed to be the

_last_ snow, this season, that it would be difficult to count

them)--what a juvenile company, we say, there was, to lament with the

skate-vender who poured out his griefs in the following affecting parody

upon the late THOMAS MOORE'S lines, "I never loved a dear gazelle," &c.:

"I never wrote up 'Skates to sell,'

Trusting to fickle Nature's law,

But--when I advertised them well,

And puffed them--it was sure to thaw.

Yes; it was ever thus--the Fates

Seem adverse to the trade in skates.

"If a large lot I chanced to buy,

Thinking 'twas likely _still_ to freeze

Up the thermometer would fly,

All in a day, some ten degrees.

Their presence in my window-pane,

Turns ice to mud, and snow to rain."

But, after all, our skate-vender has no great need of fear. We have had

deep snows in April, and May _may_ bring him his season yet: for what

says the Almanac of past years? Why, that

"Monday, fourth of May,

Was a very snowy day!"

_Literary Notices._

_Austria in 1848 and '49_, by W.H. STILES (Harper and Brothers). This

work, in two octavo volumes, by the late Chargé d'Affaires of the United

States, at the Court of Vienna, furnishes the most complete history that

has yet appeared of the political affairs of Hungary, with ample and

accurate details of the late disastrous revolutionary struggle. From his

diplomatic position at Vienna, Mr. Stiles had rare opportunities for

observation, of which he has availed himself in a manner that is highly

creditable to his acuteness and good sense. He has evidently made a

diligent study of his subject in all its bearings; the best authorities

have been faithfully consulted; conflicting views have been cautiously

weighed; but his final conclusions are derived from the free exercise of

his own judgment. Hence his work is quite free from the spirit of

partisanship. It is critical in its tone, rather than dogmatic. Aiming

at entire impartiality, it may seem too moderate in its statements to

satisfy the advocates of extreme views on either side. Mr. Stiles shows

an ardent attachment to the principles of liberty; he is thoroughly

imbued with the spirit of American institutions; but he has no sympathy

with the Communism or Red Republicanism of Europe. An admirer of the

heroic enthusiasm of Kossuth, he displays no wish to conceal the defects

of his character. He is opposed, with strong conviction, to the

interference of America in the affairs of Hungary. At the same time he

deprecates the tyranny of which she has been the victim, and presents a

candid and intelligent view of the nature of her recent struggle. His

volume contains many felicitous portraitures of the leading actors on

both sides. A number of valuable and interesting documents, illustrative

of the Revolutionary movement, are preserved in the Appendix.

The following description of the Seressâners, a portion of Jellachich's

troops, presents a favorable specimen of the picturesque style in which

the author often temperately indulges:

"_Seressâners_ are the wild border soldiers from Montenegro, and bearing

a stronger resemblance to the Indians of the North American forests than

to the ordinary troops of the European continent. The frame of such a

borderer seems to be nothing but sinew and muscle; and with ease, nay,

without appearing to be at all affected by them, he endures hardships

and fatigues to which the most seasoned soldiers are scarcely equal. A

piece of oaten bread and a dram of _sklikowitz_ (plum brandy) suffice

him, on an emergency, a whole day, and with that refreshment alone will

march on untired, alike in the most scorching heat and the most furious

snow-storm; and when night comes, he desires no other couch than the

bare ground, no other roof than the open sky. Their costume is most

peculiar, as well as picturesque. There is something half Albanian in

some portions of the dress--in the leggings and full trowsers fastened

at the knee, and in the heavily gold-embroidered crimson jacket. But

that which gives decided character and striking originality to these

sons of war is the cloak. Over these giant frames hangs a mantle of

scarlet cloth, fastened tightly at the throat; below this, on the

breast, depends the clasp of the jacket, a large silver egg, made so as

to open and serve as a cup. In the loose girdle are to be seen the

richly-mounted pistols and glittering kandjar--Turkish arms chiefly; for

every _Seressâner_ is held, by old tradition, to have won his first

weapon from the Turk. The mantle has a cape, cut somewhat in the shape

of a bat's wing, but which, joined together by hooks and eyes, forms a

sharp pointed hood, resembling those of the Venetian _marinari_, but

higher and more peaked. Over the crimson cap, confined by a gold band

upon the brow, falling with a gold tassel on the shoulder, rises this

red hood, usually overshadowing such a countenance as a Murillo or a

Vandyke would delight to portray. The brilliant rays of the long dark

eye repose beneath a thick fringe of sable lashes; but you feel that, if

awakened, they must flash forth in fire. The brow, the mouth, and the

nose are all essentially noble features; and over all is spread a skin

of such clear olive-brown, that you are inclined to think you have a

Bedouin before you."

Our readers will remember the controversy which has recently produced

some excitement in London, with regard to a person claiming to be a

Hungarian baroness, employed in the political service of Kossuth. The

following curious anecdote sets that question at rest, while it explains

the romantic manner in which Mr. Stiles was put in possession of the

dispatch from Kossuth, requesting his intervention with the Imperial

Government:

"On the night of the 2d December, 1848, when all communication between

Hungary and Austria had ceased, large armies on either side guarding

their respective frontiers, the author was seated in the office of the

Legation of the United States at Vienna, when his servant introduced a

young female, who desired, as she said, to see him at once upon urgent

business. She was a most beautiful and graceful creature, and, though

attired in the dress of a peasant, the grace and elegance of her manner,

the fluency and correctness of her French, at once denoted that she was

nearer a princess than a peasant. She sat and conversed for some time

before she ventured to communicate the object of her visit. As soon as

the author perceived that in the exercise of the utmost caution she

desired only to convince herself that she was not in error as to the

individual she sought, he told her that, upon the honor of a gentle man,

she might rest assured that the individual she saw before her was the

diplomatic agent of the United States at the court of Vienna. Upon that

assurance, she immediately said, 'Then, sir, I am the bearer of a

communication to you.' She then asked, 'Have you a servant, sir, in whom

you can rely, who can go with me into the street for a few moments?' The

author replied that he had no servant in whom he could rely, that he

feared they were all in the pay of the police, but that he had a private

secretary in whom he reposed confidence, and who could accompany her.

The secretary was immediately called, they descended together into the

street, and in a few moments returned, bearing with them the rack of a

wagon. This rack, which is a fixture attached either to the fore or back

part of a peasant's wagon, and intended to hold hay for the horses

during a journey, was composed of small slats, about two inches wide and

about the eighth of an inch thick, crossing each other at equal

distances, constituted a semicircular net-work. As all these slats,

wherever they crossed, were fastened together with either wooden or iron

bolts, with our unskillful hands an hour nearly was consumed before we

could get the rack in pieces. When this was accomplished, we saw nothing

before us but a pile of slats; but the fair courier, taking them up one

by one, and examining them very minutely, at length selected a piece,

exclaiming, 'This is it!' The slat selected resembled the others so

completely, that the most rigid observer, unapprised of the fact, could

not have detected the slightest difference between them; but, by the aid

of a penknife, to separate its parts, this slat was found to be composed

of two pieces, hollowed out in the middle, and affording space enough to

hold a folded letter. In this space had been conveyed, with a secrecy

which enabled it to pass the severe scrutiny of the Austrian sentinels,

the communication addressed to the author by Louis Kossuth.

"The mysterious personage, as intrepid as she was fair, who undertook

the conveyance of this dispatch, at night, alone and unprotected, in an

open peasant's wagon, in a dreadful snow-storm, through the midst of the

Austrian army, when detection would have been certain death, was (as M.

Pulszky has just informed the author) then a single lady, has since

married, and is now the Countess Motesiczky.

"The statement, therefore, of a person assuming the title of Baroness de

Beck, and who, in a work upon the Hungarian war, published in England

about two years ago, claiming for herself the credit of having been the

bearer of the dispatch referred to, is altogether without foundation.

This authoress, whose character, as well as untimely and remarkable

death, was involved in so much mystery, and excited for a time so much

discussion in Europe, was (as M. Pulszky represents) the servant of the

Countess Motesiczky, and thus became possessed of a knowledge of the

incident above detailed."

Stringer and Townsend have issued the fourth edition of _Frank

Forester's Field Sports of the United States_, by HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT,

with several additions and new pictorial illustrations. One need not be

a practical sportsman in order to enjoy, with keen zest, the racy

descriptions of silvan life which flow so charmingly from the practiced

pen of this accomplished "Forester." In the woods, he is every where at

home. He not only knows how to bag his game, but he studies all their

habits as a book, and never leaves them till they have fulfilled their

destiny on the table of the epicure. Writing, in a great measure, from

personal experience, his style has all the freshness of a mountain

breeze. With a quick eye for the picturesque, he paints the scenery of

our American sporting grounds, with admirable truthfulness and spirit.

He has made free use in these volumes of the works of distinguished

naturalists, Audubon, Giraud, Wilson, Godman and others, and has been

equally happy in his borrowings and in his own productions. We recommend

his manual to all who cherish a taste for rural life. To sportsmen, of

course, we need say nothing of its merits.

The _Golden Christmas_, by W. GILMORE SIMMS is the title of a slight

story, presenting many vivid sketches of social life on a Southern

plantation. In its execution, it is more careless than the usual

writings of the author, but its ease and vivacity will make it a

favorite with indulgent readers in search merely of amusement. Its

prevailing tone is "genial and gentle, tender and tolerant, not

strategetical and tragical." (Published by Walker, Richards, and Co.

Charleston, S.C.)

_Falkenburgh_ is a recent novel by the author of "Mildred Vernon," which

is well worth reading, for its piquant delineations of character, apart

from the current interest of the plot, which is one of great power and

intensity. The scene is laid in the picturesque regions of the Rhine,

and suggests many delightful pictures to the rare descriptive talents of

the writer. (Harper and Brothers.)

A new work of fiction by CAROLINE CHESEBRO, entitled _Isa, A

Pilgrimage_, is issued by J.S. Redfield, in the style of simple elegance

which distinguishes his recent publications. This is a more ambitious

effort than the former productions of the authoress, displaying a deeper

power of reflection, a greater intensity of passion, and a more complete

mastery of terse and pointed expression. On the whole, we regard it as a

successful specimen of a quite difficult species of composition. Without

the aid of a variety of incident or character, with scarcely a

sufficient number of events to give a fluent movement to the plot, and

with very inconsiderable reference to external nature, the story turns

on the development of an abnormal spiritual experience, showing the

perils of entire freedom of thought in a powerful, original mind, during

the state of intellectual transition between attachment to tradition and

the supremacy of individual conviction. The scene is laid in the

interior world--the world of consciousness, of reflection, of passion.

In this twilight region, so often peopled with monstrous shapes, and

spectral phantasms, the author treads with great firmness of step. With

rare subtlety of discrimination, she brings hidden springs of action to

light, untwisting the tangled webs of experience, and revealing with

painful minuteness, some of the darkest and most fearful depths of the

human heart. The characters of Isa and Stuart, the leading personages of

the story, certainly display uncommon insight and originality. They

stand out from the canvas in gloomy, portentous distinctness, with

barely light enough thrown upon them to enable us to recognize their

weird, mysterious features. For our own part, we should prefer to meet

this writer, whose rare gifts we cordially acknowledge, in a more sunny

atmosphere; but we are bound to do justice to the depth and vigor of the

present too sombre creation.

_The Howadji in Syria_, by GEORGE W. CURTIS (Harper and Brothers).

Another fragrant record of Oriental life by the delightful pen which

dropped spices and honey so luxuriantly in the unmatched _Nile Notes of

a Howadji_. This volume is written in a more subdued strain--the radiant

Oriental splendors gleam less dazzlingly, as the traveler approaches the

West--the pictures of gorgeous beauty are softened down to a milder

tone--and as the pinnacles of the Holy City appear in view, a "dim

religious light" tempers the glowing imaginative sensuosity which revels

in the glorious enchantments of the sunny Nile. As a descriptive writer,

the Howadji has few equals in modern literature. He is indebted for his

success to his exquisite perceptions of external nature, combined with a

fancy fertile in charming images, and a vein of subtle reflection, which

often gives an unexpected depth to his pictures, in the midst of what

may at first seem to be only the flashes of a brilliant rainbow

coloring. His notices of facts have the accuracy of a gazetteer. They

are sharp, firm, well-defined, and singularly expressive. The most

prosaic writer could not give a more faithful daguerreotype copy of

Eastern scenery. Read his account of the Camel, in the description of

his passage across the Desert from Cairo to Jerusalem. The ugly beast is

made as familiar to the eye as the horses in a Broadway omnibus. A few

authentic touches give a more vivid impression of this unwieldy "ship of

the desert" than the labored details of natural history. But this

fidelity to nature is by no means the ultimate aim of the Howadji. It is

only the condition of a higher sweep. It serves as the foundation of a

series of delicious prose poems, sparkling with beauty, electric with

emotion, and seductive to the ear by their liquid melody of expression.

The Howadji is no less loyal to feeling than he is faithful to nature.

With not the faintest trace of sentimentalism, he is not ashamed of the

eye and the soul susceptible to all beautiful influences. He writes out

his experience with a cordial frankness that disarms prejudice. This

union of imagination and fact in the writings of the Howadji must always

give a charm to his personal narratives. No one can listen to the

relation of his unique adventures without delight. How far his admirable

success in this line of composition would insure his success in a purely

imaginative work, we do not venture to predict. We trust he will yet

give us an opportunity to decide the experiment.

_A Commentary on the Book of Proverbs_, by MOSES STUART. In a

characteristic Preface to this volume, which is the last that came from

the press previous to the lamented death of the author, Professor Stuart

maintains that the Book of Proverbs was not wholly composed by Solomon,

but that it consists of a selection of the proverbial sayings that were

current among the wise men of the Hebrew nation. These were digested and

arranged by Solomon, and received his sanction by passing through his

hands. Most of the maxims are the offspring of sound common sense, of

much experience, and of acute discrimination. They present a vivid

picture of the internal Hebrew man--of his genius, feelings, morals,

industry, social condition, and, indeed, of the whole state of the

Hebrews, and their rank among the society of nations. The commentary by

Professor Stuart is adapted to beginners in the Hebrew study, giving

minute attention to all the philological difficulties, whether in form,

idiom, or syntax. It exhibits a profusion of grammatical and exegetical

learning, a devoted study of the original text, and considerable

analytic acumen. (Published by M.W. Dodd.)

_The Story of a Soul_, by HENRY W. PARKER, is the title of an

anniversary Poem, read before a literary society of Hamilton College,

devoted to a retrospect of the supposed experience of a soul, and of the

progress of society during the nineteenth century. It shows a lively

imagination, a familiar acquaintance with human nature, and an uncommon

fluency of expression. The alternation in the poem of grave reflections

on the spiritual life, and touches of sarcastic humor on the current

events of the day, gives a lively air to the composition, and well

sustains the interest of the reader. (Sold by Evans and Brittan.)

Lippincott, Grambo, and Co. have commenced the publication of a series

of _Cabinet Histories_, embracing a volume for each State in the Union.

The work is intrusted to the charge of T.S. ARTHUR, and W.H. CARPENTER,

whose names may be taken as a guarantee that their task will be

performed with exactness and fidelity, and that no sectarian, sectional,

or party feelings will bias their judgment, or lead them to violate the

integrity of history. It is intended to present a brief narrative of the

domestic policy of each State; and, at the same time, to give a peculiar

prominence to the personal history of the people, illustrating the

progressive development of the social state from the rude forest life of

the earlier day to the present condition of refinement and prosperity.

The design of the series is excellent. If ably carried out, as we have

no doubt it will be, it must prove an important contribution to the

interests of popular education. We have already received the _Histories

of Kentucky_ and of _Georgia_, which are executed in a manner that

furnishes the highest promise for the future volumes of the series. The

style is marked by rare simplicity and clearness. The facts are well

arranged, and apparently based on authentic evidence. A fine portrait of

the veteran pioneer, Daniel Boone, embellishes the History of Kentucky.

The translation of MOSHEIM'S _Commentaries on the State of Christianity

before the Age of Constantine_, by JAMES MURDOCK, D.D., is a valuable

contribution to the literature of Ecclesiastical History. This work is

well known to the students of theology as one of great learning and

research, and has not been superseded by the more elaborate and

ambitious productions of a later period. Dr. Murdock's name is a

sufficient assurance of the fidelity of the translation. (Published by

S. Converse.)

A new edition of Madame PULSZKY'S delightful _Tales and Traditions of

Hungary_ has been issued by J.S. Redfield. They are full to overflowing

of the genuine Magyar spirit, presenting a series of rich and beautiful

portraitures of the old Hungarian life. In the prevailing interest which

is now attached to the country of Kossuth, this volume can not fail to

find a welcome reception with the American public.

_Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers_, by WILLIAM EDMONDSTONE AYTOUN. The

brave martial spirit of these poems of the olden time is finely

sustained by the ringing melody of their rhythm. Combining a fervent

admiration of the Cavaliers with a devout hatred of the Covenanters, the

author has embodied his political feelings in resonant strains. The neat

edition of his volume brought out by Redfield will make him better known

in this country.

Harper and Brothers have published _Notes on the Book of Revelation_, by

Rev. ALBERT BARNES, forming the eleventh volume of Barnes's _Notes on

the New Testament_. The character of this popular commentary is too well

known to require any critical remarks. In the preface to the present

volume, the author makes some interesting statements with regard to the

progress of the work from its commencement to its completion. It was

begun more than twenty years ago. It was intended only to comprise brief

and simple Notes on the Gospels, for the use of Bible classes and

Sunday-school teachers. Contrary to the original plan of the author, his

Notes have been extended to eleven volumes, and embrace the whole of the

New Testament. They have been written entirely in the early hours of the

morning, before nine o'clock, the rest of the day having been invariably

devoted to other pursuits. In studying the Apocalypse, without any

pre-conceived theory as to its plan, Mr. Barnes discovered that the

series of events recorded by Gibbon bore a singular correspondence to

the series of symbols made use of by the sacred writer. This fact

presents a point of literary curiosity which we apprehend has escaped

the notice of previous writers. The remarks upon it by Mr. Barnes are

quite to the purpose: "The symbols were such as it might be supposed

_would be used_, on the supposition that they were intended to refer to

these events; and the language of Mr. Gibbon was often such as _he would

have used_, on the supposition that he had designed to prepare a

commentary on the symbols employed by John. It was such, in fact, that,

if it had been found in a Christian writer, professedly writing a

commentary on the book of Revelation, it would have been regarded by

infidels as a designed attempt to force history to utter a language that

should conform to a pre-determined theory in expounding a book full of

symbols. So remarkable have these coincidences appeared to me in the

course of this exposition, that it has almost seemed as if he had

designed to write a commentary on some portions of this book, and I have

found it difficult to doubt that that distinguished historian was raised

up by an overruling Providence to make a record of those events which

would ever afterward be regarded as an impartial and unprejudiced

statement of the evidences of the fulfillment of prophecy. The

historian of the 'Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire' had no belief in

the divine origin of Christianity, but he brought to the performance of

his work learning and talent such as few Christian scholars have

possessed. He is always patient in his investigations; learned and

scholar-like in his references; comprehensive in his groupings, and

sufficiently minute in his details; unbiased in his statements of facts,

and usually cool and candid in his estimates of the causes of the events

which he records; and, excepting his philosophical speculations, and his

sneers at every thing, he has probably written the most candid and

impartial history of the times that succeeded the introduction of

Christianity, that the world possesses, and even after all that has been

written since his time, his work contains the best ecclesiastical

history that is to be found. Whatever use of it can be made in

explaining and confirming the prophecies, will be regarded by the world

as impartial and fair, for it is a result which he least of all

contemplated, that he would ever be regarded as an expounder of the

prophecies in the Bible, or be referred to as vindicating their truth."

_Romanism at Home_, by KIRWAN, is a controversial work against the Roman

Catholic Church, in a series of Letters to the Hon. Chief Justice Taney.

Bold, vehement, and enthusiastic--of a stringent polemical tone--and

abounding in striking local and personal details--it is adapted to make

a strong impression, and can not fail to be extensively read. (Harper

and Brothers.)

* * * * *

Lord COCKBURN'S _Life of Francis Jeffrey_ is welcomed by the London

Press as one of the most charming books of the season. The

Correspondence is spoken of as being singularly delightful. "The

generous humanity," says the _Athenæum_, "the genial good-will, the

ever-recurring play of the noblest affections of the heart endear to us

the writer of these letters, and claim the sympathies of all who are

alive to what is beautiful in human nature. They exhibit much of the

vivacity and freshness of Walpole, combined with the literary grace of

Chesterfield and the sweet tenderness of Cowper. In their union of

emotional feeling with refined sense and bright conception, their

character is almost poetical. They are revelations of Jeffrey's heart as

well as of his head, and will make him known and loved by countless

readers. His fascination as friend and companion can be easily

understood after reading these effusions of a mind whose genial feeling

could not be stifled or depressed by forensic or literary toil, or by

the snows of age."

* * * * *

The ninth and tenth volumes of Mr. GROTE'S _History of Greece_ are now

out. They bring down the history from the period of the culmination of

the Spartan supremacy, to the accession of Philip of Macedon. "A very

remarkable thing about these two volumes," says the _Leader_, "is the

amount of political teaching they contain, adapted to the present hour.

The volumes are, we may say, pervaded with a lesson of contrast between

the results of a government founded on despotism, and those of a

government founded on free speech. Invariably in Greece, where free

speech was permitted, and democratic spirit prevailed, the developments

of society were better, greater, and more orderly, than where matters

were managed by long continuations of military despotism, or occasional

_coups d'état_." Three or four volumes more will conclude this great

work.

* * * * *

Mr. GLADSTONE has published the third volume of his translation of

FARINI'S _History of the Roman State_. This volume carries on the story

from the flight of the Pope, to the landing of General Oudinot at Civita

Vecchia. "The narrative is interesting," says the _Leader_, "but, like

the two previous volumes, narrow and peevish in its spirit. One regrets

more than ever, on reading these volumes, that MARGARET FULLER'S

_History of the Italian Movement_ has been lost to the world; it would

have told the story of the Roman Republic in so different a spirit from

that of the crabbed Farini, who, though he writes well enough, is

precisely one of those men who would act like vinegar in any cause,

souring all, and helping nothing. By-the-by, SAFFI, Mazzini's young and

gifted colleague in the Triumvirate (one of the few men of whom even

Farini speaks well, and who is precisely the man to win golden opinions

from all sorts of people, and what is more, to deserve them), is writing

a _History of the Roman Revolution of 1848-49_. We believe part of it is

already written, if not published by the Italian press of Switzerland."

* * * * *

MR. MOXON has called in the _Shelley Papers_, in two volumes, published

in January last, it having been discovered that the whole work was a

collection of ingenious forgeries, deceiving alike publisher, editor,

and public. The first suspicion raised of their genuineness was by a

correspondent of the Literary Gazette drawing attention to the singular

identity of whole paragraphs of some of the letters, with an article in

the Quarterly on "Fine Arts in Florence" in 1840, and contemporaneously,

Mr. Palgrave discovered the embodiment of a whole article of his

father's, contributed to the Edinburgh Review. This led to further

examination and strict inquiry, and there appears at the present time,

says the London journals, but little reason to doubt that the letters

which were purchased at auctions for high prices can be traced to the

"George Gordon Byron, Esq.," whose projected publication in England,

some years since, of some alleged secret unpublished papers of Lord

Byron was prohibited.

We believe it has not yet been stated, with reference to these

forgeries, that they were made, not to impose on autograph collectors,

for which purpose their value, in relation to the time and pains spent

in their fabrication, would offer no inducement; but they were produced

to authenticate a new memoir of Lord Byron, but this publication having

failed, and the author falling into distress, was compelled to part with

his alleged "original MSS."

* * * * *

The _London Critic_ says that the Messrs. "Routledge have presented to

the British lovers of poetry the collected works of JAMES RUSSELL

LOWELL, one of the foremost in local fame of the poets of America, but

who is less known in England than some of his brethren of lesser merit.

This reprint, at a trifling price, will, we trust, introduce him to the

better acquaintance of our readers, who can not but be pleased with the

vivid imagination, the fruitful fancy, the exquisite transcripts of

nature, and the lofty sentiment that pervades his productions."

* * * * *

We learn from the _Athenæum_ that Margaret Fuller, on the eve of that

visit to the Continent which was to prove so eventful and disastrous,

left in the hands of a friend in London a sealed packet, containing, it

is understood, the journals which she kept during her stay in England.

Margaret Fuller contemplated at that time a return to England at no very

distant date; and the deposit of these papers was accompanied by an

injunction that the packet should then be restored with unbroken seal

into her own hands. The papers are likely to be of great interest, and

were doubtless intended for publication; but the writer had peremptorily

reserved the right of revision to herself, and forbidden the breaking of

the seals, on a supposition which fate has now made impossible. The

equity of the case under such circumstances demands only a reference to

Margaret Fuller's literary executors.

* * * * *

Lord JOHN RUSSELL is engaged in the preparation of a Life of _Charles

James Fox_. The materials, collected by Lord Holland and by Mr. Allen,

have been long since placed at his lordship's disposal, and the work

might have been ready but for the public duties which occupy so much of

his attention and time.

* * * * *

At a recent sale of books in London a few rarities were brought to the

hammer. "The Bokes of Solomon," printed by W. Copland, 1551, a very rare

little volume, sold for 26_l._; a copy of Coverdale's Bible, the edition

of 1560, but imperfect, sold for 31_l._; a manuscript book of "Hours,"

with miniatures very prettily painted, sold for 19_l._ As if to prove

that the days of bibliomania are not yet quite gone--a copy of "Barnes's

History of Edward III.," which in ordinary condition is worth about

10_s._, sold for the large sum of 9_l._ 10_s._, simply because it

happened to be in "choice old blue morocco, the sides and back richly

tooled."

* * * * *

The election to the vacant chair of Greek in the University of Edinburgh

which took place on the 2d of March, was contested with uncommon zeal.

Up to a late period it seemed undecided which of the many able

candidates for the office would win--but at last the choice lay between

Dr. William Smith, Dr. Schmitz, Prof. Blackie, Prof. Macdowall, and Mr.

Price. The election was ultimately decided by the Lord Provost giving a

casting vote in favor of Prof. Blackie. In this gentleman the University

has secured a man of genius, energy, and kindly feeling--and one well

able to maintain its character for classical learning.

* * * * *

Mr. DICKENS'S _Bleak House_ is producing quite a marked sensation in

Germany. Half a dozen publishers at least announced the work several

weeks since, and on the 30th of March the first number of _Bleak House_

was to appear in half a dozen German translations. It remains to be seen

what the German translators will do with the Court of Chancery and its

technicalities.

* * * * *

There are now about five or six various translations of Macaulay's

'History of England' published in Germany. The number is likely to be

increased by another translation, for which a Brunswick book-seller has

engaged the name of HERR BESELER the Schleswig-Holstein politician of

the year 1848.

* * * * *

BARANTE has published his third volume of the _Histoire de la Convention

Rationale_, which comes down to the epoch of CARRIER, at Nantes.

* * * * *

PIERRE LEROUX, who is now an exile in London, is about to deliver a

course of lectures on the _History of Socialism_. Pierre Leroux has not

only the necessary erudition for the task, he has also the prestige of

having intimately known the modern Socialists.

* * * * *

The works of CHAMFORT are collected into one octavo volume, with a

preliminary essay by ARSENE HOUSSAYE. These writings abound in

anecdotes, and sharp sentences, picturesque, ear-catching, brief, and

suggestive phrases.

* * * * *

GEORGE SAND has made another unsuccessful dramatic experiment,

_Pandolphe en vacances_, which distresses the admirers of her genius,

who desire to see her renounce a stage to which that genius is clearly

not adapted, in spite of _Le Champi_ and _Claudie_.

* * * * *

In the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ is commenced a skillful translation of

Mrs. NORTON'S beautiful novel, _Stuart of Dunleath_, by EMILE FORGUES;

and an intimation is given of this vein being actively worked.

* * * * *

No small sensation has been caused in Paris by the discovery of the

extraordinary forgeries of the Shelley letters. The fact is, that the

system of forging letters and manuscripts of distinguished personages is

carried on to a large extent in that city: indeed it is as much a

regular branch of business as the manufacture of pictures by the great

masters is in Italy. In Germany similar frauds are practiced with great

success. Only a little while ago a gentleman purchased several letters

purporting to be written by Luther, every one of which it now appears is

a forgery. In Italy the same system is carried on.

* * * * *

The literary remains of the late ANSELM FEUERBACH, the most learned of

the professors of criminal jurisprudence in Germany, are about to be

edited by his son, L. Feuerbach, and published by C. Wigand, of Leipzig.

* * * * *

King Max of Bavaria has given a commission to M. Halbig, the sculptor of

Munich, to model from the life a bust of Schelling, the well-known

German philosophical writer.

* * * * *

The admirers of German literature will be glad to learn that an attempt

has been made in Germany to register the enormous number of books and

pamphlets which the Germans themselves have published on their two great

poets, Goethe and Schiller. A catalogue of the Goethe literature in

Germany, from the year 1793 to 1851, has been published by Balde, at

Cassel, and in London by Messrs. Williams and Norgate. The Schiller

literature, from 1781 to 1851, is likewise announced by the same firm.

* * * * *

The literary remains of the late Count PLATEN-HALLERMUNDE, author of

_The Tower with Seven Gates_, _The Romantic Oedipus_, _The Fateful

Fork_, and other works, which will always stand pre-eminent in German

literature, as well as the poet's correspondence with Count FUGGER, are

now in the hands of Dr. MINKVITZ, who is preparing them for publication.

* * * * *

The first volume of _The Lives of the Sovereigns of Russia, from Rurik

to Nicholas_, is announced as nearly ready in London. It is to be

completed in three volumes, and to be printed uniformly with Miss

Strickland's _Queens of England_, with illustrations. The author, who is

not unknown to fame, truly remarks, "It is a singular fact that there is

no such work at present in the English language, and that we know,

perhaps, less of "Russia and the Russians," than we do of some of the

distant tribes of India. It does appear, therefore, that there is a

blank in our historical library which requires filling up; such a

publication, consequently, may be deemed a _desideratum_ in English

literature."

Three Leaves from Punch.

[Illustration: FIRST ARISTOCRATIC BUTCHER-BOY.--"Hullo, Bill. Don't mean

to say yer've come down to a Pony?"

SECOND DITTO DITTO.--"Not dezactly! Our Cart is only gone a-paintin'."]

[Illustration: OMNIBUS DRIVER.--"Reely, now! and so the _'lectric fluid_

takes a message between Dover and Calis. (Inquiringly) Pray, Sir, wot's

it like? Is it any thing like beer, for example?"]

[Illustration: FLUNKEY.--"Apollo? Hah! I dessay it's very cheap, but it

ain't my Ideer of a Good Figger!"]

[Illustration: ELLEN.--"Oh, don't tease me to-day, Charley; I'm not at

all well!"

CHARLEY.--"I tell you what it is, Cousin--the fact is, You are in Love!

Now, you take the advice of a fellow who has seen a good deal of that

sort of thing, and don't give way to it!"]

[Illustration: MRS. SMITH.--"Is Mrs. Brown in?"

JANE.--"No, Mem, she's not at Home."

LITTLE GIRL.--"Oh! what a horrid Story, Jane! Mar's in the Kitchen,

helping Cook!"]

PENALTIES.

The Penalty of buying cheap clothes, is the same as that of going to

law, the certainty of losing your suit, and having to pay for it.

The Penalty of marrying is a mother-in-law.

The Penalty of remaining single, is having no one who "cares a button"

for you, as is abundantly proved by the state of your shirts.

The Penalty of thin shoes, is a cold.

The Penalty of a pretty cook, is an empty larder.

The Penalty of stopping in Paris, is being shot.

The Penalty of tight boots, is corns.

The Penalty of having a haunch of venison sent to you, is inviting a

dozen friends to come and eat it.

The Penalty of popularity, is envy.

The Penalty of a baby, is sleepless nights.

The Penalty of interfering between man and wife, is abuse, frequently

accompanied with blows, from both.

The Penalty of a Godfather, is a silver knife, fork, and spoon.

The Penalty of kissing a baby, is half-a-crown (five shillings, if you

are liberal) to the nurse.

The Penalty of a public dinner, is bad wine.

The Penalty of a legacy, or a fortune, is the sudden discovery of a host

of poor relations you never dreamt of, and of a number of debts you had

quite forgotten.

The Penalty of lending, is--with a book or an umbrella, the certain loss

of it; with your name to a bill, the sure payment of it; and with a

horse, the lamest chance of ever seeing it back again sound.

The Penalty of being a witness, is to be abused by the lawyers, snubbed

by the judge, and laughed at by the spectators; besides having the

general state of your wardrobe described in the papers next morning.

[Illustration: Awful Contortion of the Face produced by the constant Use

of an Eye-glass.]

[Illustration: RATHER SEVERE.

"Shall I 'old your 'Orse, Sir?"]

WHAT I HEARD ABOUT MYSELF IN THE EXHIBITION.

[Illustration]

I am the original of the "Portrait of a Gentleman," in the Exhibition of

last year. I had my likeness taken, because I had a great admiration for

the original. I thought my face handsome, and my figure noble, if not

elegant--I believed that I had a remarkably grand head. I prided myself

on my eyes, not only on account of their color, which I took for a deep

gray, but also for a lustre which I fancied them to emit, which I

supposed was the fire of genius. I was persuaded that I had a Roman nose

and a finely chiseled mouth. Sometimes I thought I resembled Byron, at

others Shelley. It is true I could not conceal from myself that my

proportions were rather massive than lofty, and that my legs were

somewhat curved; but I imagined that these peculiarities imparted a

stalwart manliness to my bearing. While sitting to the artist I composed

my countenance into the most dignified and intellectual expression of

which it was capable. I was represented in full dress, and I thought I

presented the appearance of an Apollo--perhaps a little too much

developed--got up for an evening party. I was anxious that the public

should share my gratification, and had the portrait sent to the

Exhibition, where it appeared on the Catalogue as the "Portrait of a

Gentleman." As soon as the Exhibition was opened I went there, and

stationed myself before my picture; a crowd was gathered around. I

thought, at first, that they were admiring it as much as I did. I

listened to their criticisms, and was undeceived. "'Portrait of a

Gentleman!'" said one, "Portrait of a Snob!" and passed on. I was

indignant. "What could possess that fellow; with his unmeaning face, fat

paunch, and bandy legs, to have his picture taken?" inquired another. My

head swam, I thought I should have fainted. "Vulgarity personified;"

"What a silly simper upon the face;" "What a self-satisfied smirk about

the mouth," remarked a second, third, and fourth, as they cast their

eyes upon the picture. "The head is like a dumpling," said a

phrenological-looking visitor. "Why does he show that fat hand so

conspicuously?" asked a sixth. I was represented standing with one leg

crossed before the other, my hand resting upon a book--which attitude I

thought harmonized with my remarkably intellectual countenance. "The

figure would pass for Sancho Panza, but the face is too stupid," said a

seventh. By this time I was almost stupefied with humiliation; but the

worst was yet to come. Among those who were contemplating the portrait

was a lady--the loveliest, I think, I ever saw. "Poor fellow!" said she,

at last, with a sigh, "how dreadful it must be for him to have those

horrid green eyes!" I could bear no more. I rushed from the Exhibition,

and slunk to my rooms. What I suffered that night I can not describe.

But the next day I recovered my senses; sent for my picture from the

Exhibition; and am now reconciled to the fact that I am a very

ugly-featured, bandy-legged punchy little fellow, not the least in the

world like an Apollo.

[Illustration: NOBLE LORD.--"Here's this confounded Newspaper speaking

the Truth again. Ah! They manage these things better in France."]

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF A FRENCH COURT OF JUSTICE, 1852.]

Spring Fashions.

[Illustration: FIGURES 1 AND 2.--BALL AND VISITING TOILET.]

May is here with its bursting buds and early flowers, but its fickleness

overmatches that of its imitator, Fashion, and foils all her attempts at

adaptation of costume for the carriage or the promenade. To-day the sun

smiles as in leafy June; to-morrow cold, gray clouds lower upon the brow

of the firmament, and chilling winds chase the zephyrs back to the

orange groves of the South. To-day a light dress is seasonable;

to-morrow a cloak might not be uncomfortable. It is difficult for the

modiste to designate the best costume for promenade; and to avoid error,

we will confine our report to fashion in the parlor, drawing-room, and

saloon.

FIG. 1 represents a pretty DINNER or VISITING TOILET. The head-dress is

composed of blonde, ribbon and white satin, velvet ribbon and white

feathers, and is worn very backward on the head. The blonde forms a

round with scalloped edge, covered with figures. It is gathered in the

middle, and the gathers are concealed under a cross bow formed of two

loops of velvet and two of white satin, two long ends of white ribbon

(about fifteen inches) hang down behind. On each side there are two

white feathers. The upper one is laid backward, and the lower one comes

forward. From between the two proceed two velvet bows and a loose end.

This little Pompadour cap is the same on both sides. The ribbons of the

crown are No. 12; those of the sides No. 3. Dress of _moire antique_,

ornamented with narrow velvet ribbons, about three-eighths of an inch

wide. Body plain, high, opening in front, edged with two narrow velvets,

the first three-eighths of an inch wide. The opening is confined by five

_moire_ bands, each with a bow of the same. The sleeves, rather short,

are bordered with five velvet ribbons. The skirt is trimmed with two

series of velvets. The first begins six inches from the bottom, and is

composed of twenty rows. The second begins six inches above the other,

and contains fifteen. The rest of the skirt is plain. The under-sleeves

and habit-shirt are lace.

FIG. 2 is an elegant BALL TOILET. Hair waved and ornamented with a crown

of small parti-colored tulips; it inclines to the Mary Stuart form on

the head, and increases in size toward the bottom. Dress of taffeta

with _tulle_ tunic and bertha. The body is ornamented with a bertha,

open in front, round behind; this bertha, of _tulle_ in small puffs, is

trimmed with clouded Pompadour white ribbon, No. 9. They are placed in

such a manner as to inclose the bertha as if in a ring. The _tulle_

skirt is also tucked up and held by Pompadour ribbons, No. 16, which are

set as if they raised it and held it in long loops. At the waist, these

ribbons are plaited in with the plaits of the skirt. The _tulle_ skirt

is puffed in very small puffs. In the middle of the body are placed bows

of Pompadour ribbon, No. 9. On the left side there is a beautiful fall

of tulips with foliage; the silk skirt is studded with bows of Pompadour

ribbon, No. 12.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--VISITING DRESS.]

FIG. 3 represent a beautiful HOME or VISITING TOILET. Velvet vest and

skirt; waistcoat, watered silk. The waistcoat reaches high, and is

buttoned from top to bottom. The vest sits close behind and is open in

front; it has a lapel turning up from the bottom, and trimmed with a

plaid satin ribbon, having a velvet stripe in it. The sleeve is short,

and ends in a plaid cuff, open at the sides. The edges of the lapel and

the cuff are bound with a narrow black velvet. The skirt is trimmed with

three rows of plaid ribbon, No. 22; the lowest is placed two inches from

the edge. The second and third are at intervals of four inches from each

other. A black velvet, No. 2, is laid about half an inch from each side

of the ribbon. The collar is cambric, turning down flat, rounded at

bottom. Under the collar a narrow black satin cravat is worn. The

cambric under-sleeves are plaited small, and form a puff, confined by a

narrow plain wristband, and terminated at the hand by a plain open

_manchette_, rounded off at the corners, and held together by two jewel

buttons connected with a chain. This sleeve is very much like the

sleeves of a gentleman's shirt. A Matilda cap, of blonde. It is set very

backward on the head; the crown is very small, and is drawn by a white

watered ribbon, which is tied on one side, where it hangs in two ends. A

branch of moss roses springs out of the knot. The band of the cap, which

is made of indented blonde, is gathered, but short in front, whereas

behind it is gathered and long.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--BALL TOILET.]

FIGURE 4 represents a portion of an elegant BALL DRESS. Coiffure: hair

in bandeaux, wreath of roses, small bunches of grapes, and satin ribbons

with gold figures. Under-dress, white satin; the outer one with two

_tulle_ skirts, embroidered in spots with silk, and trimmed with

ribbons. The satin body is rather low in front, and inclining to the V

shape; the _tulle_ body is open in front down to the waist; it is

confined by four small cords of silk and gold, which are tied in the

middle, and terminate in small silk and gold tassels. The lower one goes

round the waist, like a sash, and the two tassels fall at unequal

distances rather low down the skirt. The _tulle_ body is gathered at the

waist, in front, and at the bottom of the back. It is also gathered in

the shoulder seam. Two ribbons are sewed on the edge of the body, the

second disappears in the gathers. The satin sleeves are even and short;

those of _tulle_ are open at the side and held by a knotted cord. The

large _tulle_ skirt is trimmed at bottom with five ribbons. The first is

gathered at the waist and arranged so as to drape in front and reach

down lower at the sides. The bottom of the tunic is trimmed with three

ribbons.

CAPS.--Those which are composed of English point-lace, Valenciennes, or

Mechlin, are principally decorated with long streamers, or narrow

ribbons, about two inches wide, forming a mass of _petit coques_, the

ends of which being _frisotés_, droop in a similar way to the _gerbés_.

Sometimes these narrow ribbons are colored and intermixed with various

shades, which gives them the name of the _touffes à la jardinière_.

Pretty ones are formed of Brussels point, and decorated with bunches of

narrow gauze ribbon, green, pink, blue, white, brown, yellow, &c,

twisted so as to form clusters upon each side of the bands. The little

caps of the present day are mostly made in a slight point just over the

forehead, where it comes a little forward, and rises upon each side just

over the temples. These caps are made rather long at the ears.

HEAD-DRESSES.--Several very charming ones are now worn, formed of black

lace, and ornamented upon the side with clusters of black velvet ribbon,

richly _broché_ in gold, and having long drooping ends floating over the

neck. We have also remarked several very piquant coiffures in velvet,

decorated with gold sequins, so much in fashion now; while others of a

lighter description are of _tulle_, embroidered with gold, and

interlaced with chains of sequins, falling upon each side of the neck,

and decidedly making the most aristocratic head-dress of the season. The

wreaths of flowers now intended for our young _élégantes_, are also

extremely pretty, some being formed of small bell-flowers, which droop

in a single row, quite over the top of the forehead, while others have

long sprays falling over the back part of the head, having a very novel

effect.

Transcriber's Notes:

Words surrounded by _ are italicized.

Obvious punctuation errors have been repaired, other punctuations have

been left as printed in the paper book.

Obvious printer's errors have been repaired, other inconsistent

spellings have been kept, including:

- use of hyphen (e.g. "beehives" and "bee-hives");

- any other inconsistent spellings (e.g. "Bedoueen" and "Bedouin").

Pg 780, word "not" removed (is [not] mentioned).

Pg 793, word "have" removed (who have [have] dared to think).

Pg 828, sentence "(TO BE CONTINUED.)" added at the end of article.

Pg 813, three occurrences of word "courtesy" changed into "curtsey" (a

smile and curtsey).