CHAPTER V.

The prompt assistance rendered by Dr. R---- to Mrs. Gaston came just

in time. It enabled her to pay her month's rent, due for several days,

to settle the amount owed to Mrs. Grubb, and lay in more wood for the

coming winter. This consumed all her money, and left her once more

dependent upon the meagre reward of her hard labor to supply food and

clothing for herself and her two remaining children. From a state of

almost complete paralysis of mind, consequent upon the death of Ella,

her necessities aroused her. On the second day after the child had

been taken, she again resumed her suspended toil. The sight of the

unfinished garment, which had been laid aside after bending over it

nearly the whole night previous to the morning upon which Ella died,

awakened a fresh emotion of grief in her bosom. As this gradually

subsided, she applied herself with patient assiduity to her task,

which was not finished before twelve o'clock that night, when she laid

herself down with little Emma in her arms, and soon lost all care and

trouble in profound sleep.

Hasty pudding and molasses composed the morning meal for all. After

breakfast, Mrs. Gaston took the two jackets, which had been out now

five days, to the shop.

"Why, bless me, Mrs. Gaston, I thought you had run off with them

jackets!" was Michael's coarse salutation as she came in.

The poor, heart-oppressed seamstress could not trust herself to reply,

but laid her work upon the counter in silence. Berlaps, seeing her,

came forward.

"These kind of doings will never answer, madam!" he said, angrily. "I

could have sold both jackets ten times over, if they'd been here three

days ago, as by rights they ought to have been. I can't give you work,

if you are not more punctual. You needn't think to get along at our

tack, unless you plug it in a little faster than all this comes to."

"I'll try and do better after this," said Mrs. Gaston, faintly.

"You'll have to, let me tell you, or we'll cry 'quits.' All my women

must have nimble fingers."

"These jackets are not much to brag of," broke in Michael, as he tossed

them aside. "I think we had better not trust her with any more cloth

roundabouts. She has botched the button-holes awfully; and the jackets

are not more than half pressed. Just look how she has held on the back

seam of this one, and drawn the edges of the lappels until they set

seven ways for Sunday! They're murdered outright, and ought to be hung

up with a basin under them to catch the blood."

"What was she to have for them?" asked Berlaps.

"Thirty cents a-piece, I believe," replied the salesman.

"Don't give her but a quarter, then. I'm not going to pay full price

to have my work botched up after that style!" And, so saying, Berlaps

turned away and walked back to his desk.

Lizzy Glenn, as she had called herself, entered at the moment, and

heard the remark of the tailor. She glided noiselessly by Mrs. Gaston,

and stood farther down the store, with both her body and face turned

partly from her, where she waited patiently for the interview between

her and Michael to terminate.

The poor, heart-crushed creature did not offer the slightest

remonstrance to this act of cruel oppression, but took the half

dollar thrown her by Michael for the two jackets with an air of meek

resignation. She half turned to go away after doing so, but a thought

of her two remaining children caused her to hesitate.

"Haven't you some more trowsers to give out?" she asked, turning again

towards Michael.

The sound of her voice reached the ear of the young female who had

just entered, causing her to start and look for an instant towards the

speaker. But she slowly resumed her former position with a sigh, after

satisfying herself by a single glance at the woman, whose voice had

fallen upon her ear with a strange familiarity.

"We haven't any more ready, ma'am, just now."

"What have you to give out? Anything?"

"Yes. Here are some unbleached cotton shirts, at seven cents. You can

have some of them, if you choose."

"I will take half a dozen," said Mrs. Gaston, in a desponding tone.

"Anything is better than nothing."

"Well, Miss Lizzy Glenn," said Michael, with repulsive familiarity, as

Mrs. Gaston turned from the counter and left the store, "what can I do

for you this morning?"

The young seamstress made no reply, but laid her bundle upon the

counter and unrolled it. It contained three fine shirts, with linen

bosoms and collars, very neatly made.

"Very well done, Lizzy," said Michael, approvingly, as he inspected the

two rows of stitching on the bosoms and other parts of the garments

that required to be sewed neatly.

"Have you any more ready?" she asked, shrinking back as she spoke, with

a feeling of disgust, from the bold, familiar attendant.

"Have you any more fine shirts for Lizzy Glenn?" called Michael, back

to Berlaps, in a loud voice.

"I don't know. How has she made them?"

"First rate."

"Then let her have some more, and pay her for those just brought in."

"That's your sorts!" responded Michael, as he took seventy-five cents

from the drawer and threw the money upon the counter. "Good work, good

pay, and prompt at that. Will you take three more?"

"I will," was the somewhat haughty and dignified reply, intended to

repulse the low-bred fellow's offensive familiarity.

"Highty-tighty!" broke in Michael, in an under-tone, meant only for the

maiden's ear. "Tip-top airs don't pass for much in these 'ere parts. Do

you know that, Miss Lizzy Glenn, or whatever your name may be? We're

all on the same level here. Girls that make slop shirts and trowsers

haven't much cause to stand on their dignity. Ha! ha!"

The seamstress turned away quickly, and walked back to the desk where

Berlaps stood writing.

"Be kind enough, sir, if you please, to hand me three more of your fine

shirts," she said, in a firm, but respectful tone.

Berlaps understood the reason of this application to him, and it caused

him to call out to his salesman something after this homely fashion--

"Why, in thunder, Michael, don't you let the girls that come to the

store, alone? Give Lizzy three shirts, and be done with your confounded

tom-fooleries! The store is no place for them."

The young woman remained quietly beside the desk of Berlaps until

Michael came up and handed her the shirts. She then walked quickly

towards the door, but did not reach it before Michael, who had glided

along behind one of the counters.

"You're a fool! And don't know which side your bread's buttered," he

said, with a half leer, half scowl.

She neither paused nor replied, but, stepping quickly out, walked

hurriedly away. Young Perkins, before alluded to, entered at the

moment, and heard Michael's grossly insulting language.

"Is that the way to talk to a lady, Michael?" he asked, looking at him

somewhat sternly.

"But you don't call her a lady, I hope, Mr. Perkins?" the salesman

retorted, seeming, however, a little confused as he spoke.

"Do you know anything to the contrary?" the young man asked, still

looking Michael in the face.

"I can't say that I know much about her, any way, either good or bad."

"Then why did you use such language as I heard just now?"

"Oh, well! Never mind, Mr. Perkins," said Michael, his whole manner

changing as a new idea arose in his thoughts; "if she's your game, I'll

lie low and shut my eyes."

This bold assurance of the fellow at first confounded Perkins, and then

made him very indignant.

"Remember, sir," said he, in a resolute voice, and with a determined

expression on his face, "that I never suffer any one to trifle with

me in that style, much less a fellow like you; so govern yourself,

hereafter, accordingly. As to this young lady whom you have just

insulted, I give you fair warning now, that another such an act will

bring with it merited punishment."

Perkins then turned from the somewhat crestfallen salesman, and walked

back to where Berlaps was standing at his desk.

"Do you know anything about that young woman I just now saw leave here,

Mr. Berlaps?" he asked.

"I do not, Mr. Perkins," was the respectful answer. "She is a stranger,

who came in some days ago for work."

"What is her name?"

"Lizzy Glenn, I believe."

"Where does she live?"

"Somewhere at the north end. Michael, there, knows."

"Get from him her street and number for me, if you please."

Berlaps asked Michael for the street and number where she lived, which

the fellow took good care to give wrong. Perkins made a memorandum of

the name and residence, as furnished, in his note-book, and, bowing to

the man of shears, departed.

With her half dozen shirts, at seven cents, Mrs. Gaston returned home,

feeling as if she must give up the struggle. The loss of Ella, after

having striven so long and so hard for the sake of her children, made

her feel more discouraged than she had ever yet felt. It seemed to her

as if even Heaven had ceased to regard her--or that she was one doomed

to be the sport of cruel and malignant powers. She had been home for

only a short time, when Dr. R---- came in. After inquiring about her

health, and if the children were still free from any symptoms of the

terrible disease that had carried off their sister, he said--

"I've been thinking about you a good deal in the last day or two, Mrs.

Gaston, and have now called to have some talk with you. You work for

the stores, I believe?"

"Yes, sir."

"What kind of work do you do?"

"Here are some common shirts, which I have just brought home."

"Well, how much do you get for them?"

"Seven cents, sir."

"_Seven cents!_ How many of them can you make in a day?"

"Two are as many as I shall be able to get through with, and attend to

my children; and even then I must work half the night. If I had nothing

to do but sit down and sew all the while, I might make three of them."

"Shameful! Shameful! And is that the price paid for such work?"

"It is all I get."

"At this rate, then, you can only make fourteen cents a day?"

"That is all, sir. And, even on the best of work, I can never get

beyond a quarter of a dollar a day."

"How in the world, then, have you managed to keep yourself and three

children from actual want?"

"I have not been able, doctor," she replied, with some bitterness. "We

have wanted almost everything."

"So I should suppose. What rent do you pay for this poor place?"

"Three dollars a month."

"What! seventy-five cents a week! and not able to earn upon an average

more than a dollar a week?"

"Yes, sir. But I had better work through the summer, and sometimes

earned two dollars, and even a little more, in a week."

The doctor paused some time, and then said--

"Well, Mrs. Gaston, it's no use for you to struggle on at this rate,

even with your two remaining children. You cannot keep a home for them,

and cover their nakedness from the cold. Now let me advise you."

"I am ready to hear anything, doctor."

"What I would propose, in the first place--and that, in fact, is what

has brought me in this morning--is that you put Henry out to a trade.

He is young, it is true; but necessity, you know, knows no law. He will

be just as well off, and better, too, under the care of a good master

than he can be with you. And, then, such an arrangement will greatly

relieve you. The care of little Emma will be light in comparison to

what you have had to endure."

"You are no doubt right, doctor," the poor woman said, while the tears

came to her eyes as she glanced towards Henry, who, for want of a pair

of shoes, was compelled to stay home from school. "But I cannot bear

the thought of parting with him. He is a delicate child, and only ten

years old this winter. He is too young to go from home and have a

master."

"He is young, I know, Mrs. Gaston. But, then, it is vain to think of

being able to keep him with you. It is a cruel necessity, I know. But

it cannot be avoided."

"Perhaps not. But, even if I should consent to put him out, I know of

no one who would take him. And, above all, I dread the consequences of

vicious association in a city like this."

"That matter, I think, can all be arranged to your satisfaction. I saw

a man yesterday from Lexington, who asked me if I knew any one who had

a lad ten or twelve years old, and who would like to get him a good

place. I thought of you at once. He said a friend of his there, who

carried on the hatting business, wanted a boy. I inquired his character

and standing, and learned that they were good. Now, I think this an

excellent chance for you. I have already mentioned your little boy to

the man, and promised to speak to you on the subject."

"But think, doctor," said Mrs. Gaston, in a trembling voice, "Henry is

but ten. To put a child out for eleven years is a long, long time."

"I know it is, madam. But he has to live the eleven years somewhere,

and I am sure he will be as comfortable in this place as you can make

him, and, indeed, even more so."

"In some respects he may, no doubt. But a child like him is never happy

away from his mother."

"But suppose it is out of his mother's power to get him food and

comfortable clothing?"

"True--true, doctor. It is a hard fate. But I feel that I have only one

way before me--that of submission."

And submit she did, though with a most painful struggle. On the

following day, the friend of the hatter called upon Mrs. Gaston, and

it was settled between them that little Henry should be called for by

the man who was to become his master on the morning of the next day but

one. The best that the mother could do for her son, about to leave his

home and go out among strangers, was to get him a pair of shoes, upon

which she paid forty cents, promising to settle the balance in a couple

of weeks. His thin, scanty clothes she mended and washed clean--darned

his old and much worn stockings, and sewed on the torn front of his

seal-skin cap. With his little bundle of clothes tied up, Henry sat

awaiting on the morning of the day appointed for the arrival of his

master, his young heart sorrowful at the thought of leaving his mother

and sister. But he seemed to feel that he was the subject of a stern

necessity, and therefore strove to act a manly part, and keep back

the tears that were ready to flow forth. Mrs. Gaston, after preparing

her boy to pass from under her roof and enter alone upon life's hard

pilgrimage, sat down to her work with an overburdened heart. At one

moment she would repent of what she had done, and half resolve to say

"No," when the man came for her child. But an unanswerable argument

against this were the coarse shirts in her hands, for which she was to

receive only _seven cents a piece_!

At last a rough voice was heard below, and then a heavy foot upon the

stairs, every tread of which seemed to the mother to be upon her heart.

Little Henry arose and looked frightened as a man entered, saying as he

came in--

"Ah, yes! This is the place, I see. Well, ma'am, is your little boy

ready?"

"He is, sir," replied Mrs. Gaston almost inaudibly, rising and handing

the stranger a chair. "You see he is a very small boy, sir."

"Yes, so I see. But some small boys are worth a dozen large ones. Come

here, my little fellow! What is your name?"

The child went up to the man, telling him his name as he did so.

"That's a fine little fellow! Well, Henry! do you think you and I can

agree? Oh, yes. We'll get along together very well, I have no doubt.

I suppose, ma'am," he continued, addressing Mrs. Gaston, "that the

better way will be for him to stay this winter on trial. If we like

each other, you can come out to Lexington in the spring and have him

regularly bound."

"That will be as well, I suppose," the mother replied. Then, after a

pause, she said--

"How long will it be, Mr. Sharp, before I can see Henry?"

"I don't know, ma'am. How long before you think you can come out to

Lexington?"

"Indeed, sir, I don't know that I shall be able to get out there this

winter. Couldn't you send him in sometimes?"

"Perhaps I will, about New Year's, and let him spend a few days with

you."

"It is a good while to New Year's day, sir. He has never been from home

in his life."

"Oh no, ma'am. It's only a few weeks off. And I don't believe he'll be

homesick for a day."

"But _I_ shall, Mr. Sharp."

"You?"

"Yes, sir. It is hard to let my child go, and not see him again before

New Year's day."

"But you must act the woman's part, Mrs. Gaston. We cannot get through

life without some sacrifice of feeling. My mother had to let me go

before I was even as old as your boy."

As Mr. Sharp said this, he arose, adding as he did so--

"Come, my little man. I see you are all ready."

Holding back her feelings with a strong effort, Mrs. Gaston took hold

of Henry's small, thin hand, bent over him, and kissed his fair young

cheek, murmuring in an under tone--

"God be with you, and keep you, my boy!"

Then, speaking aloud, she said--

"Be a good and obedient child, and Mr. Sharp will be kind to you, and

let you come home to see me at New Year's."

"Oh, yes. He shall come home then," said the man half indifferently, as

he moved towards the door.

Henry paused only to kiss his sister, and then followed after, with his

little bundle in his hand. As he was about descending the steps, he

turned a last look upon his mother. She saw that his eyes were filled

with tears. A moment more, and he was gone!

Little Emma had stood looking wonderingly on while this scene was

passing. Turning to her mother with a serious face, as the door closed

upon Henry, she said--

"Brother gone, mamma?"

"Yes, dear! Brother is gone," sobbed the mother, taking the last child

that remained to her, and hugging it passionately to her bosom. It was

a long time before she could resume her work, and then so deep was her

feeling of desolation, that she could not keep back from her eyelids

the blinding tear drops.

(To be continued.)

* * * * *

BEARDED CIVILIZATION.

It may not be generally known that beards are singularly connected

in history with the progress of civilization. The early Greeks and

Romans did not shave. The Greeks began to use the razor about the time

of Alexander, who commanded all his soldiers to shave, lest their

beards should afford a handle for their enemies. This was little more

than three hundred years before the Christian era; and thirty years

after Alexander, Ticinius introduced the habit of shaving amongst the

Romans. The Gothic invaders of the Western empire revived the habit of

wearing the beard. The Anglo-Saxons were a bearded race when William

the Conqueror invaded England, and, therefore, the Conqueror and his

Normans ever after wore the chin smooth, in order to distinguish them

from the vanquished; and thus, even in the Norman invasion, the shaven

chin became the emblem of an advanced civilization. In like manner,

amidst all the long controversies between the Eastern and Western

Churches, the Western Church has invariably espoused the cause of the

razor, whilst the Greek or Eastern Church as resolutely defends the

cause of the beard. Civilization has marched in the West, and remained

stationary in the East, in the land of beards. When Peter the Great

determined to civilize his Russian subjects, one of the means which

he considered indispensable was the use of the razor, he, therefore,

commanded his soldiers to shave every layman who refused to do it

himself, and rare sport they had with the stubborn old patriarchs, who

persisted in retaining their much-cherished emblems of age and wisdom.

BABYLON, NINEVEH, AND MR. LAYARD.

(Concluded from page 136.)

[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE SMALL TEMPLE AT NIMROUD.]

Returning to Konyunjik, Mr. Layard renewed his excavations. Soon

afterwards, he discovered what he called the "chamber of records,"

which was filled with tablets. These are of vast importance in a

historical point of view; and, when completely translated, they will

add immensely to our knowledge of the ancient Assyrians. Hincks

and others, who have devoted much attention to the study of the

cuneiform character, have employed themselves in the translation

with considerable success. In other apartments were discovered

bas-reliefs, containing representations of attendants carrying strings

of pomegranates and locusts; musicians playing upon harps, tabors,

double-pipes, and an instrument like the modern santour of the East,

consisting of a number of strings stretched over a hollow case or

sounding-board.

In the mean time, excavations carried on in the high mound of Nimroud

resulted in the discovery of several temples, ornamented with great

beauty and effect. One of them had a gateway formed by two colossal

lions, with extended jaws, gathered up lips and nostrils, flowing

manes, and ruffs of bristly hair. The heads were vigorous and truthful

in design. The limbs conveyed the idea of strength, and the veins and

muscles were accurately portrayed. But the front of the animal was

narrow and cramped, and unequal in dignity to the side. The sculptor

had given five legs to the animal, in order that they might offer

a complete front and side view. The height of the lions was about

eight feet, and their length thirteen. In front of them were two

altars, hollow at the top, and ornamented with gradines resembling

the battlements of a castle. The exterior walls appeared to have been

adorned with enamelled bricks, many of which still remained. The slabs

on the floor of the temple were inscribed with records of the wars and

campaigns of the earliest Nimroud king.

[Illustration: SMALL TEMPLE AT NIMROUD.]

Another small temple was discovered at the north-west corner of the

mound. Four of its chambers were explored, chiefly by means of tunnels

carried through the enormous mass of earth and rubbish in which the

ruins were buried. The great entrances were to the east. The principal

portal was formed by two colossal human-headed lions, sixteen feet

and a half high, and fifteen feet long. They were flanked by three

small-winged figures, one above the other, and divided by an ornamental

cornice, and between them was an inscribed pavement slab of alabaster.

In front of each was a square stone, apparently the pedestal of an

altar, and the walls on both sides were adorned with enamelled bricks.

Having dispatched another lot of very interesting sculptures to Busrah,

Mr. Layard determined to set out for Babylonia. Upon the reputed site

of ancient Babylon he designed to carry on extensive excavations,

provided his means would permit. The remains of Babylon were found upon

the banks of the Euphrates. Towering above all was the great mound of

Babel. Beyond, for many an acre, were shapeless heaps of rubbish, the

ridges that marked the course of canals and aqueducts. On all sides,

fragments of inscribed glass, marble, and pottery were mingled with

that peculiar nitrous and blanched soil, which, bred from the remains

of ancient habitations, checks vegetation and renders the site of

Babylon a hideous waste. Southward of Babel, for the distance of nearly

three miles, there is an almost uninterrupted line of mounds, the ruins

of vast edifices, the whole being inclosed by earthen ramparts. On

the west of the Euphrates is the vast ruin called the Birs Nimroud,

which some have conjectured to be the remains of the Temple of Belus,

which, according to Herodotus, stood in one of the western divisions of

Babylon. According to the united testimony of ancient authors, the city

was divided by the Euphrates into two parts. The principal existing

ruins are to the east of the river.

The hostility of the Arab tribes prevented Mr. Layard from making

excavations at the Birs Nimroud. He visited that famous ruin, and

formed an opinion in regard to the shape of the edifice, but made no

discoveries worthy of notice. The excavations carried on upon the

eastern bank of the river were not attended with very remarkable

results. Bricks, inscribed with the name and titles of Nebuchadnezzar,

king of the Chaldees, were numerous. Coffins, containing skeletons

that fell to pieces on exposure to the air, were discovered. No relic

or ornament seemed to have been buried with the bodies. Glass bottles,

glazed earthen vessels, and many other relics of a doubtful period,

were found. Digging trenches into the foot of the mound of Babel, Mr.

Layard came upon walls and masses of masonry, but failed to trace

the plan of an edifice, or discover any remains of sculptured stone

or painted plaster. The mound called Kasr was explored, and found to

contain some astonishing specimens of masonry, the bricks being deeply

inscribed with the name and title of Nebuchadnezzar. But the plan of

an edifice could not be ascertained. The only relic of any interest

discovered was a fragment of limestone, on which were parts of two

figures, undoubtedly those of gods. This showed that the Babylonians

portrayed their divinities in the same manner as the Assyrians. In

the mound of Amran were found some bowls, on which were inscriptions

in a curious character. These were deciphered by Mr. Thomas Ellis,

of the British Museum, and ascertained to have been written by Jews.

Mr. Layard thinks that there is no reason to doubt that the bowls

belonged to the descendants of those Jews who were carried captive

by Nebuchadnezzar to Babylon and the surrounding cities. From the

same mound were also taken some earthen or terracotta tablets. They

resembled those which had been already deposited in the British Museum

by Colonel Rawlinson. On one of these is the figure of a man leading a

large and powerful dog, which has been identified with a species still

existing in Thibet. The Babylonians prized these dogs very highly. One

of their satraps is said to have devoted the revenues of four cities to

the support of these animals.

[Illustration: TERRACOTTA TABLET FROM BABYLON.]

Brick appears to have been the common material for building purposes

in Babylon. But such bricks and such bricklaying were never seen

elsewhere. All the bricks were enamelled and ornamented with figures of

men and animals. They were joined together by the finest cement. The

immense edifices erected from such materials were even more astonishing

than the pyramids of Egypt or the palaces of Assyria, as these were the

results of greater toil and skill.

Leaving Babylon somewhat disappointed, Mr. Layard proceeded to the

mounds of Niffer, in the same district. There, however, he had no

better success than at Babylon. Masses of masonry, inscribed bricks,

and sarcophagi of an unknown date, were all that could be obtained

by excavations. Soon afterwards, Mr. Layard returned to the site of

Nineveh to superintend the removal of his sculptures, and the work of

exploration was relinquished.

It now remains to sum up the results of the discoveries of Layard to

chronology and history. The translators of the Assyrian inscriptions

have ascertained that the earliest king, of whom they can gain any

detailed account, was the builder of the north-west palace at Nimroud,

the most ancient edifice hitherto discovered in Assyria. His records,

however, with other inscriptions, furnish the names of five, if not

seven, of his predecessors, some of whom erected palaces at Nineveh,

and originally founded those which were only rebuilt by subsequent

monarchs. The translators, after a careful consideration of all the

evidence, fix the date of the reign of the earliest king at about 1121

B. C. Colonel Rawlinson calls him the founder of Nineveh; but this

is a hasty conclusion. His name is believed to have been Ashurakbal.

He carried his arms to the west of Nineveh, across Syria, to the

Mediterranean, to the south into Chaldea, and to the north into Asia

Minor and Armenia. Of his sons, Divanubar, was also a great conqueror.

He waged war, either in person or by his generals, in Syria, Armenia,

Babylonia, Chaldæa, Media, and Persia. The kings of Israel and Egypt

paid him tribute, so that he was, indeed, a mighty sovereign. Divanubar

seems to have had two successors, but even their names are uncertain.

The next king of whom there are any actual records appears to have been

the predecessor of Pul, or Tiglath-Pileser, who is mentioned in the

Scriptures. His name has not yet been deciphered. He was a successful

warrior, and carried his arms into Chaldea and the remotest parts

of Armenia. The successor of this monarch was Sargon, the builder

of the palace of Khorsobad--a king mentioned by the prophet Isaiah.

He was a warlike prince, and carried his arms to the islands of the

Mediterranean, and into all the neighboring countries. He made 27,280

Israelites captive in Samaria and its dependent districts. Egypt

paid him tribute. From the reign of Sargon, we have a complete list

of kings to the fall of the empire, or to a period not far distant

from that event. He was succeeded by the mighty Sennacherib, whose

history is well known. This king ascended the throne about 703 B. C.

After spreading the terror of his arms in every direction, he was

assassinated, and his son, Essarhaddon, ascended the throne. This

king is mentioned in the Scriptures. He built the south-west palace

at Nimroud, and an edifice, the ruins of which are now covered by the

tomb of Jonah, opposite Mosul. In his inscriptions, he is styled king

of Egypt and Ethiopia, and he appears to have been a great warrior. The

son of Essarhaddon was named after the builder of the north-west palace

at Nimroud. His son was the last king of the second dynasty, and, as

Mr. Layard says, may have been that Sardanapalus who was conquered by

the combined armies of the Medes and Babylonians under Cyaxares, 606

B. C., and who made a funeral pile of his palace, his wealth, and his

wives.

The records of Nineveh do not go back farther than the twelfth century

before Christ. From Egyptian monuments, however, distinguished scholars

have gleaned the intelligence that a kingdom called Assyria, with a

capital called Nineveh, existed as early as the fifteenth century

before Christ. The Assyrian empire appears to have been at all times

a kind of confederation formed by many tributary states, whose kings

were so far independent that they were only bound to furnish troops to

the supreme lord in time of war, and to pay him an annual tribute. On

the occasion of every change at the capital, these tributary states

seem to have striven to throw off the yoke of the Assyrians. The

Assyrian armies were made up of many various nations, retaining their

own costumes, arms, and modes of warfare. The Jewish tribes can now be

proved to have held their dependent position upon the Assyrian king

from a very early period--indeed, long before the time inferred from

any passage in Scripture.

The religious system of the Assyrians is still uncertain. All we can

infer is that this people worshipped one supreme God, as the great

national deity under whose immediate protection they lived. He was

called Asshur, and Assyria was known as the "country of Asshur."

Beneath him were twelve gods of vast power, and there seems to have

been about 4,000 inferior divinities. Asshur was always typified by a

winged figure in a circle.

Mr. Layard does not think that the extent of Nineveh has been

exaggerated. The space within the ruined ramparts does not seem to

have been occupied with houses. These ramparts merely surrounded the

magnificent palaces and their beautiful grounds. The citizens resided

beyond them, having the space within for a refuge in case of invasion.

This is the plan of some modern cities in the East. From a careful

survey of the whole ground, Mr. Layard believes that Nineveh was a

"city of three days' journey round"--say, sixty miles in circumference.

VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY.

BY HARLAND COULTAS.

PROCESS OF FERTILIZATION.--The young seeds or ovules are

contained in the interior of the pistil before the flower opens, and

continue to grow until that time, but no longer, unless they are acted

upon by the pollen of the anthers. The necessity of this process

shows why it is that stamens and pistils are so constantly found in

flowers, and why the former surround the latter so nicely as they in

general do; and, even in circumstances which seem somewhat adverse to

fertilization, still some admirable contrivance is always found to

bring about the same end.

In some flowers, we meet with beautiful contrivances for securing the

fecundation of their pistils. Thus, such as are erect have usually the

stamens longer than the pistils, whilst in pendulous flowers it will be

found that the pistils are the longest and the stamens the shortest. By

this admirable relative adjustment, the pollen, in falling, comes into

contact with the pistil. The Fuchsia, or ladies' ear-drop (Fig. 1),

shows the character of this arrangement in a pendulous flower: _p_ is

the pistil, and _s_ the stamens, which, it will be perceived, are much

shorter, and situated above the pistil, in order that its viscid stigma

or summit may receive the pollen as it falls out of the anther cells.

[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

There are a few well-known instances in which fertilization is effected

by certain special movements of the stamens. The stamens of the

barberry spring to the pistil, if the lower part of their filaments is

touched; and in Parnassia palustris, the grass of Parnassus, a rare and

beautiful snow-white swamp flower, the stamens move towards the pistil

in succession to discharge their polliniferous contents.

The flowers of the Kalmia latifolia, or mountain kalmia, a native

evergreen, very abundant on the side of barren hills and the rocky

margins of rivulets, are especially deserving of attention. The

corollas of the kalmia are rotate or wheel-shaped, and have ten

stamens, the anthers of which, before the flowers expand, are contained

in ten little cavities or depressions in the side of each corolla,

where they are secured by a viscid secretion. When the corollas open,

the filaments of the stamens are bent back by this confinement of

their anthers like so many springs, in which condition they remain

until the pollen in the anther cells becomes ripe and absorbs the

secretion. The anthers, becoming suddenly liberated by this means from

their cavities, fly up with such force as to eject their pollen on the

pistil. The slightest touch with the point of a needle, or the feet of

an insect crawling over their filaments, is sufficient to produce the

same effects when the pollen is mature. Fig. 2 shows, at _a_, the fully

expanded flower with the confined anthers; at _b_, the flower after the

anthers have discharged their pollen.

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

When the stamens and pistils are together in the same flower, it is

designated as hermaphrodite, and complete; but, if the flower contains

only one of these organs, it is termed unisexual, and, in this case,

it is either male or female, according as it is composed uniquely

of stamens, or male sexual organs, or of pistils, or female sexual

organs. This separation of the sexual organs in flowers is of very

frequent occurrence. The greater portion of our forest trees, and many

herbaceous plants and shrubs, have unisexual flowers.

Sometimes the stamens and pistils are situated in separate flowers

on the same plant. When this is the case, the staminate flowers are

generally situated above the pistillate. The Indian corn exemplifies

this arrangement. It is well known that the flowering panicle at the

summit of the stem does not produce corn; these are the staminiferous

flowers from whose anthers descend clouds of pollen on the threadlike

pistils forming the silky tuft beneath. Without this pollen, the corn

in the lower spike would not ripen; hence the evident design of nature

in placing the pistillate below the staminate spike of flowers.

In forest trees, these unisexual flowers are usually borne on separate

individuals of the same species, or the flowers on one tree are wholly

staminate, and those on the other altogether pistillate. It must be

obvious that such plants are still more unfavorably situated for

fertilization. The great abundance of pollen produced compensates for

the unfavorable situation of the flowers. The wind drives it far and

near, and the air becomes sometimes so charged with it that rain, in

falling, brings it down to the ground in considerable quantities,

producing the so called sulphur showers of which we read in history.

There is no doubt, also, that the bee and other insects in search of

honey convey the pollen from the stamens to the pistils in unisexual

plants.

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.--MARCH.

BY D. W. BELISLE.

ARGO NAVIS.--This beautiful constellation occupies a large space in

the southern hemisphere, though few of its stars are seen in our

latitude. It is situated south-east of Canis Major, and may be known

by three stars forming a small triangle in the prow and deck of the

ship. Sixteen degrees south of this triangle is a very brilliant star

in the row-lock, called Naos. This star is the south-east corner of the

Egyptian X, and comes to the meridian on the 3d of March, when, for a

few hours only, it is visible in our latitude. It is then eight degrees

above the horizon. Seven degrees south of Naos, on the 7th of March,

may be seen Gamma, a brilliant star which, for a few moments, skims

the horizon, and then disappears. It is never in our latitude more

than one degree above the horizon, and is rarely visible. Thirty-six

degrees south of Sirius is Canopus, a star of great brilliancy and

beauty. It is of the first magnitude; but, having a south declination

of fifty-three degrees, it cannot be seen in the United States.

Twenty-five degrees east of Canopus is Miaplacidus, a star of the first

magnitude in the oars of the ship. This is also invisible to us. This

constellation contains sixty-four stars, which, seen from the southern

hemisphere, are of singular beauty and brilliancy.

"There they stand,

Shining in order, like a living hymn

Written in light."

According to Greek mythology, the ship was placed in the heavens to

perpetuate the expedition of Jason into Colchis to recover the Golden

Fleece. Hebrew mythology also claims the origin of it, and with them it

perpetuates Noah's Ark, in which a remnant of every living thing was

saved during the deluge. There is good foundation for the supposition

that the Argonautic expedition is founded on certain Egyptian

traditions relating to Noah's Ark, and that the Greeks located them

within their territory, and claimed them as a triumph of Neptune, the

god of the sea.

* * * * *

CANCER.--This constellation is situated directly east of the Twins, and

occupies considerable space in the heavens. Its stars are small and

scattered, yet it may readily be distinguished by three small stars in

the centre, which form a triangle, and nearly in the centre of this

triangle is a nebula, sufficiently luminous to be distinguished with

the naked eye. The appearance of this nebula to the unassisted eye is

not unlike the nucleus of a comet, and it was repeatedly mistaken for

the comet of 1832, which passed in its neighborhood. On being viewed

through a telescope, it resolves into distinct stars, and we thus

catch a glimpse of an interminable range of systems upon systems, and

firmaments upon firmaments; and, in contemplating the immensity of

space that encircles them, the imagination becomes bewildered and lost.

Who can trace the boundless depths of air?

Beyond the reach of telescope,

Whose powers o'erstep the space

That lies where eye may never hope

To pierce, or e'en to trace

The bounds of worlds which it reveals

In those illimitable fields?

These minute stars have the appearance of planets with oval disks,

somewhat mottled, but approaching in vividness to actual planets. This

constellation is on the meridian the 3d of March.

The Greeks assert that Cancer received its origin through the favor

of Juno, who sent a sea-crab to annoy Hercules during his famous

contest with the Lernean monster. The Chaldeans, however, represented

the cluster by the figure of an ass, whose name, in the Chaldaic, is

_muddiness_. It is supposed to allude to the discoloring of the Nile,

which began to rise when the sun was entering Cancer.

* * * * *

VIA LACTEA.--

"A way there is in heaven's extended plain,

Which, when the sky is clear, is seen below,

And mortals, by the name of Milky, know;

The groundwork is of stars, through which the road

Lies open to the Thunderer's abode."

There is a luminous zone, varying from four to twenty degrees in width,

which passes quite round the heavens, called by the Greeks Galaxy, by

the Latins Via Lactea, which, in our tongue, is _Milky Way_. "Of all

the constellations which the heavens exhibit to our view, this fills

the mind with the most indescribable grandeur and amazement. When we

consider what unnumbered millions of mighty suns compose this cluster,

whose distance is so vast that the strongest telescope can hardly

separate their mingled twilight into distinct specks, and that the most

contiguous of any two of them may be as far asunder as our sun is from

them, we fall as far short of adequate language to express our ideas of

such immensity as we do of instruments to measure its boundaries."

"Throughout the Galaxy's extended line,

Unnumbered orbs in gay confusion shine;

Where every star that gilds the gloom of night

With the faint tremblings of a distant light,

Perhaps illumes some system of its own

With the strange influence of a radiant sun."

All the stars in the universe have been arranged into groups, which are

called nebulæ or starry systems. The fixed star which we call _our sun_

belongs to that extensive nebula the Milky Way, and, though evidently

of such immeasurable distance from its fellows, it is probably no

farther from them than they are from each other. We know very little of

the number and economy of the stars that compose this group. Herschel

counted five hundred and eighty-eight in a single spot, without moving

his telescope. He found the stars unequally dispersed in all parts of

the constellation, and apparently arranged into separate systems or

clusters. In a small space in Cygni, the stars seem to be clustered

into two distinct divisions, and in each division he counted upwards of

one hundred and sixty-five thousand stars.

Various changes are constantly taking place among the nebulæ. Several

new ones are being formed by the dissolution of larger ones, and it

has been ascertained beyond a doubt that many nebulæ of this kind are

detaching themselves from the Milky Way at the present time. In the

body of Scorpio there is a large opening, four degrees broad, entirely

destitute of stars, through which we get a glimpse of regions of space

beyond.

"Oh, what a confluence of ethereal fires,

From urns unnumbered down the steeps of heaven,

Streams to a point, and centres on my sight!"

Already nearly three thousand nebulæ have been observed, and if each

contains as many stars as the Milky Way in that portion of the heavens

which lies open to our observation, there must be several hundred

millions of stars. How vast and unfathomable to mortal mind must be the

ways and attributes of that intelligence that creates and guides in

unison these starry worlds!

"The hand of God

Has written legibly, that man may know

The glory of his Maker."

This nebula may be traced in the heaven, beginning at the polar star,

through the constellations Cassiopeia, Perseus, Auriga, part of Orion,

and the feet of Gemini, where it crosses the Zodiac, thence over the

equinoctial into the southern hemisphere, through Monoceros and Argo

Navis, St. Charles's Oak, the Cross, the Altar, and the feet of the

Centaur. Here it passes over the Zodiac into the northern hemisphere,

divides itself, one branch running through the tail of Scorpio, the bow

of Sagittarius, the shield of Sobieski, the feet of Antonius, Aquila

Delphinus, the Arrow, and the Swan. The other branch passes through the

upper part of the tail of Scorpio, the side of Serpentarius, Taurus

Poniatowski, Goose, neck of the Swan, head of Cepheus to the polar

star, where it again unites to the place of its beginning.

Anciently, the Milky Way was supposed to be the sun's track, and its

luminous appearance was caused by the scattered beams left visible in

the heavens. The Pagans maintained it was a path their deities used in

the heavens, which led directly to the throne of Jupiter.

"Heaven

Is the book of God before thee set,

Wherein to read his wondrous works."

TABLE-MOVING.

BY PAULINE FORSYTH.

Westbridge is a small town, so near one of the largest cities in our

Union that it can keep pace with all the vagaries and wild chimeras

with which the fantastic spirit of the age seems to delight to bewilder

and mislead its votaries, as well as learn the latest news or display

the latest fashions. And yet it is far enough from New York to have

a character and mode of living entirely its own. That character is

the severe, and the mode of life rigid and exemplary. All kinds of

amusements are looked upon with a disapproving eye, and many of them

have been so completely extirpated that they are hardly ever alluded

to. Dancing alone has contrived to maintain a precarious foothold in

the community, sometimes shrinking down into the modest cotillion, and

again, when the ranks of its votaries are recruited from some less

scrupulous portion of the country, bursting forth in the full horror

of waltz, polka, or schottisch. Its reign is, however, short, and the

social gatherings soon regain their usual character for staid propriety.

When you go to a party at Westbridge, to be invited to which is a sort

of a testimonial that you are a discreet and proper person, you are

expected to take a seat and remain seated. To move about much argues

a lightness of mind, and will cause talk. Of course, the conversation

will have to be principally carried on with your neighbor, whoever he

or she may happen to be; and three hours' uninterrupted conversation

with a shy youth or a heavy old bachelor is a mental effort of which

let those speak who have tried it. I have generally taken refuge in

silence, after having made the observations that are usually considered

proper on such occasions.

If you are a lady, books as a subject of conversation are interdicted;

for, St. Paul being our great oracle, puddings, and not literature, are

considered as the proper objects on which the female mind may exercise

itself; and, though the state of public feeling in Westbridge allows a

critical supervision over the conduct of the members of its society,

yet gossip in its broader sense is interdicted.

Thus deprived of the aliment that sustains it in so many places,

the social feeling languished, and sometimes seemed almost extinct.

Yet, in reality, it retained a vigorous vitality, and only needed an

opportunity to show how strong and deep it had struck its roots in

our common nature, so that neither circumstances nor education could

utterly destroy it. The mania for moving tables in the peculiar way

that came in with the spirit-rappings was just such an occasion as

the people in Westbridge would allow themselves to seize upon, as a

legitimate means for gratifying the love for novelty and excitement

that is inherent in mankind.

They excused, or, I should say, accounted for their ardor in the

cause--for to excuse their course of conduct is below a true

Westbridgeite--by speaking calmly and wisely of moving tables in that

mysterious way as a new fact in science yet unaccounted for, and all

their efforts were to be considered as so many scientific experiments

to discover whether electricity, or some hitherto unknown physical

influence, were the agent. For a time in Westbridge, we all, young and

old, became natural philosophers, and pursued our investigations with a

most exemplary zeal.

In a state of benighted ignorance on the subject of table-moving, never

having heard of it even, I made my entrance into the sewing society,

held weekly at Westbridge. As soon as I entered, I became aware that

some exciting topic was under discussion. That being our only weekly

gathering during the winter, in the calmest times the tongue ran an

even race with the needle; but on this particular afternoon the sewing

seemed to be forgotten. Work in hand, I seated myself near a lady to

whom a large circle were listening in open-eyed wonder.

"At my cousin's in New York," she was saying, with animated emphasis,

"they moved a heavy table, with a marble top, up stairs."

"Well, I suppose that is often done," said I, as yet uninitiated into

the mystery.

"Yes; but with their hands--that is, without their hands. I mean just

by putting their hands on the top of it, without using any force at

all."

"I know a gentleman in the city who can, after keeping his hands on the

table for a little while, take them off, and it will follow him all

about the room," said another lady.

"My cousin told me," said a young girl, so absorbed in listening that

her work had fallen on the floor, "that he had heard of tables being

made to spring up to the ceiling--heavy tables."

"Can such things be, and not o'ercome us with a special wonder?"

thought I; and I asked, rather skeptically, "Have you ever seen any of

these wonderful things?"

"Oh, yes!" said several at once, and one of the speakers continued--

"We have been trying experiments at Colonel Dutton's, and Mr.

Johnson's, and at our house, and we find that we can make the tables

move about the room as long as we keep our hands on them. We have not

yet succeeded in making them follow us or spring up from the floor; but

I have no doubt we shall. Our power seems to increase every day."

"What kind of power is it?"

"Some persons think it a new development of electricity. I think myself

it is some mysterious physical agent residing in our bodies--a kind

of magnetism that works all these wonders. That is also Dr. Whitman's

opinion."

"How do you try your experiments?" asked I, rather more inclined

to believe in it, since I had heard those scientific terms and Dr.

Whitman's name.

"We sit round a table, and lay our hands upon it so as to cover as

large a surface as possible; the thumbs must touch, and the little

fingers of each hand be in contact with the little fingers of the one

on either side, so as to form a complete circle. You must not allow

any other part of your person or dress to touch the table, or the

communication will be interrupted; and it is better not to talk or

laugh, but to be perfectly quiet and intent on your object."

Thus fully instructed, I went home bent on experimenting. Who

could tell but that I should go to my room at night followed by

all the furniture in the drawing-room in a slow procession? Though

thus extravagant in my hopes, I showed a proper humility in my

first attempts, selecting a very small tea-poy as the object of my

experiment. I obtained an assistant, a lady, who, at first, when seated

opposite to me with her hands outspread on the table before her, having

nothing else to do, was very much inclined to converse, but, at my

earnest entreaty, she relapsed into silence; and thus we sat for two

weary hours. I had been told that my fingers would tingle, and they did

tingle, and that was the sole result of this patient waiting. Tired

out at last, we came to the conclusion either that, in our ignorance,

we had neglected something essential to the success of the attempt, or

that we were entirely deficient in that mysterious physical agent, of

which some other persons seemed to possess such a super-abundance.

After having been pursued all night by tables, from which my utmost

efforts hardly enabled me to escape, I arose with a nightmare-feeling

of oppression upon me, for which a walk in the bracing air of a cold

bright day in February seemed the best remedy.

"I will run over directly after breakfast to Mrs. Atwood's, to get the

receipt for that new pudding, which she promised me, and then return

and devote the rest of the morning to making calls," thought I.

And, accordingly, a little after nine, I put my head into Mrs. Atwood's

sitting-room.

"I won't come in, thank you, this morning," said I, in answer to her

invitation. "I cannot stay a minute. I merely came to ask for the

receipt for that apple and tapioca pudding. Henrietta isn't as well as

usual to-day, and I thought she might like it. Oh, you are trying to

move a table! Don't let me disturb you, then. How do you succeed?"

"Not very well this morning," said Mrs. Atwood; "but last night we were

very successful. It was our first attempt, too. Jane brought home such

wonderful accounts from the sewing society, that we could not rest

until we had made a trial of our powers. I think this morning we need a

little more assistance, as some of the children have gone to school. I

wish you would stay a little while and help us."

"I should be very happy to do so," said I, yielding to her

solicitations and my own curiosity, and coming forward; "but I am

afraid I should be a hindrance rather than an assistance." And I

related my failure of the preceding evening.

I found Mrs. Atwood, her two eldest daughters, and one of her boys

sitting anxiously, with outspread hands, round a very small table. A

more miserable, distressed-looking child than the little white-headed

Charles Atwood I do not think I have ever seen.

"I made Charley come in from his play to help us," said Mrs. Atwood,

"because Jane was told that light-haired people possess more of that

peculiar electric power, or whatever it is, than any other. Charley is

the only member of our family who has light hair. Sit still, my son,"

she added, as Charley gave the table a little nervous kick.

There was a long silence, broken only once when Charley looked up,

with his face full of some deep purpose, and inquired the very lowest

price for which wigs could be bought. The question being considered

irrelevant, the only answer the poor child received was a shake of the

head and a frown from his mother. A peculiar whistle, the familiar

signal of one of his favorite companions, threw Charley into such a

state of painful suffering that, in commiseration for him, I consented

to take his place. He bounded off in an ecstasy of joy, and I took no

more note of time till we heard the clock strike eleven. In the mean

time, the table had quivered twice, and once moved about an inch. With

a sort of Jonah-like feeling, I arose, saying--

"It is useless for me to try longer; I am convinced that I rather

retard the movements of the table than assist you." And, bidding her

good-morning, I turned my steps homeward.

As I passed the house of one of my acquaintances, my attention was

arrested by a tap on the window--a phenomenon that never happened in

Westbridge before within my recollection. I obeyed the summons, and

found the whole family assembled, gazing in gleeful wonder at the

clumsy antics a table was playing under the guidance of three of its

members. One of these was a light-haired boy of about thirteen. There

was a sober mischief lurking in his face that awoke a slight suspicion

in my mind.

"Are you sure that Robert is not using a little muscular force?" asked

I.

"Bob? Oh no; he wouldn't do such a thing. He knows how anxious we

are to discover the truth that lies at the bottom of these strange

developments. And look how lightly his hands rest on the table--the

fingers hardly touch it. But Bob has a great deal of electricity about

him."

He looked as though he had.

"And I have observed," continued Mrs. Dutton, "that boys and very young

men are more successful than any others in moving tables."

If that had not been announced to me as a scientific fact, I should

have regarded it as a suspicious circumstance. But manner has a great

effect, and Mrs. Dutton's grand emphatic way impressed me so strongly

that I listened with the unquestioning reliance of an ignorant, but

trusting disciple.

I watched the table as it went reeling and pitching, in a blind and

purposeless sort of way, about the room, closely attended by the three

who had set it in motion.

"Now take your hands off, and perhaps it will follow you," said I.

That was an unfortunate request of mine, for, with the lifting of the

hands, all movement in the table ceased. Bob took the opportunity thus

afforded him, and made his escape from the room. We spent a long time

in trying to "charge the table," as we called it in our wisdom, again,

but were unsuccessful. I was astonished in the midst of our attempts,

and just as the table began to make its usual quiver preparatory to

a start, to hear the clock strike three. I hastened home to dinner

without the receipt, and with the pudding and the calls still unmade,

but with my mind so full of perplexed wonder at what I had seen and

heard, that I hardly gave a thought to my omissions.

We were discussing the matter in a family circle in the evening, and I

presume most of the other households in Westbridge were engaged in the

same way, when two young ladies were shown into the parlor.

"We have come to borrow one of your tables--your very smallest, Mrs.

Forsyth; and, Pauline, we want you to come back with us. You know how

these experiments are tried, I believe. Mrs. Dutton says you were in

there this morning, and saw how they did it. We have been trying in

vain for the last hour, and at last I came to the conclusion that our

tables were all too large, and I told mamma I was sure you would lend

us one, and come and see if we omitted anything essential."

"Certainly," said I, "I will do all I can--that is very little. I have

not succeeded yet in any attempt I have made. How shall we get the

table carried round? Our servants are unfortunately out or engaged."

"Oh, we can carry it ourselves," said Miss Preston, an enthusiast, whom

no trifling obstacles daunted; and we passed through the quiet streets

of Westbridge carrying the table between us, and amusing ourselves

with the curious surprise of the few pedestrians we met, as the full

moonlight fell on us and our burden.

At Mrs. Preston's I was successful for the first time. The table

quivered, then rocked, then tilted, and at last moved a little this way

and that--not much, but just enough to lift from my mind the oppressive

feeling of my own inability to do that of which all the men, women, and

children in Westbridge seemed to be capable.

When I returned in the evening, I was told that another one of our set

of small tea-poys had been borrowed by another neighbor; and for the

succeeding fortnight there was little heard or thought of in Westbridge

but moving tables. We ran into each other's houses unceremoniously in

the evening, and met in little social groups, and our town began to

wear another aspect.

But the heresy of involuntary muscular action had arisen in some way.

The person who first broached the opinion, abashed perhaps by the

indignant disapprobation with which it was received, had shrunk back

into silence, but his opinion remained and was gaining ground. The

parties began to run high. The people in Westbridge who had performed

such wonders with their electric or magnetic force felt called upon to

stand their ground and give some convincing proof that they had not all

this time been duping themselves.

Those who had lately been devoting themselves to scientific experiments

were invited to a _soirée_ at Mrs. Dutton's. A few disbelievers in

the science were also asked, that the examination might be carried on

fairly and openly.

On entering the drawing-room at Mrs. Dutton's, I found the company

already assembled. I saw all the familiar faces I had met so often

lately around, not the festive, but the scientific board, and mingled

with them were few not so often seen of late. Seated in the place of

honor, on the luxurious sofa, were two stout and stately dowagers,

guarding between them their niece, Edith Floyd, a lovely, blooming

little beauty of sixteen, with brown eyes and fair hair falling in soft

curls on either side of her face. Nearly opposite to her, and leaning

against a door, stood Reginald Archer, a young Virginian, at that time

a student at the college in Westbridge.

It was a rare event to meet a college student in the society of the

place, for so many of them had acted the part of the false young

knight "who loves and who rides away," that they had been for some

time laboring under a kind of polite ostracism. But Mr. Archer had

connections in the town, which fact accounted for his exception from

the social banishment to which his companions were doomed. The first

sight of Edith Floyd had so captivated him, that ever since he had

been trying, but trying in vain, to obtain an introduction to her.

She was so carefully watched and secluded by her two guardians, that

this was the first evening that Mr. Archer had found himself in the

same room with her. Even then he did not feel equal to encountering

her imposingly dignified aunts, and stood waiting for a more favorable

opportunity of forming her acquaintance.

Moving about from one group to another, talking in an excited, earnest

way, was Mr. Harrison, the only man in all Westbridge who had expressed

an utter disbelief in the whole movement from the first to the last.

Even the idea of involuntary or unconscious muscular action was scouted

at by him. There had not been a table moved in the town, he said, which

had not been done by some person who was perfectly conscious of what

he or she was doing. He would not reason nor listen to reason on the

subject. It was too purely absurd, he said, for argument. He never

entered a room where it was going on without being thrown out of all

patience, and yet he haunted the tables and the groups around them, as

if he found some strange fascination about them, talking, jesting, and

inveighing at our ridiculous credulity, and doing his utmost to stem

the tide that was so strong against him. But it was all to no purpose.

Mrs. Dutton said, in her oracular way, that "Mr. Harrison had no faith,

and faith was the key to knowledge."

Though thus summarily disposed of, he fought on still, not a whit

discouraged by his want of success or the little credit he gained for

himself.

After selecting with care a suitable table, those of the company who

chose to be the experimenters placed themselves around it, and the

number and variety of the fingers that were spread on that little

surface was quite wonderful to behold. Under such experienced hands,

the table performed its part to admiration. Its mode of progression

was awkward and angular, to be sure; but what could be expected from

the first attempt of a candlestand? It began at last to turn with

such rapidity that it was followed with difficulty, and the laughing,

confusion, and bustle occasioned by the endeavor to keep pace with its

irregular movements created a merry turmoil seldom seen in a decorous

assembly in Westbridge. Suddenly, the table made an unexpected tilt

nearly to the floor, thus releasing itself from most of the hands

laid upon it. The rest, satisfied with the result of the experiment,

withdrew their fingers and went to receive the congratulations of the

company.

Mrs. Dutton, in a state of high excitement, turned to Mr. Harrison and

asked his opinion.

"You have humbugged each other most successfully," said he, too

intolerant of the affair to be very choice in his expressions.

Mr. Archer, to whom the whole proceedings were new and strange, and who

had had his attention about equally divided between the table and Edith

Floyd, said, in a low voice, to Mr. Harrison--

"If I were to find myself seated with hands outspread at a table,

waiting for it to move, I should certainly think that my head was a

little touched."

"You are the only sensible person in Westbridge--besides myself," said

Mr. Harrison, warmly.

Meantime, Ellwood Floyd, Edith's brother, desirous to repeat the

experiment, had seated himself at the table, and was endeavoring to

obtain assistants. But, satisfied and tired, most of the company were

more inclined to talk.

"Come, Edith," said he, impatiently.

She looked beseechingly at her aunts, who, with some reluctance, gave

their consent. They evidently regarded her as some precious jewel,

which they were afraid to trust for one moment out of their care, for

fear they should be rifled of it.

With blushing eagerness, Edith hastened to her brother's side, and

two little hands, white and soft as snow-flakes, fell softly on the

table. Instantly, two other hands, whose aristocratic beauty of form

Lord Byron might have envied, although their color was somewhat of the

brownest, were placed beside them.

"Introduce me, if you please," asked Mr. Archer, in a whisper, of a

cousin of his, a lady who was standing near; and, the ceremony being

performed, Mr. Archer felt inclined to bless the credulity which had

thus enabled him to accomplish what had been for many months the desire

of his heart.

Mr. Harrison looked on in astonishment.

"Is it possible!" he exclaimed.

"I begin to think there is something in it," said Mr. Archer.

"Is your brain turned too?"

"Perhaps it is a little," said Mr. Archer, with a half smile, while

a flush stole over his face. He would not on any account have Mr.

Harrison, the greatest tease in Westbridge, suspect the true reason for

his sudden change.

All farther attempts at conversation were strictly forbidden by Mr.

Floyd, who took upon himself the direction of the experiment. Three

other ladies had joined, but he still looked about for more recruits.

"Come, Mr. Lamb," asked he of a large, mild-looking man, who had

gathered himself up in a corner, as if he were laboring under a

constant apprehension that he took up too much room in the world, "you

will help us, I know."

Mr. Lamb begged to be excused, and the effort of speaking before so

many brought a faint pink tinge to his face.

"Have you no faith either?" asked Mr. Harrison.

"You would not ask that, if you had seen him as I did yesterday," said

Mr. Floyd, "sitting with outstretched hands over a large dining-table.

He told me, when I went in, that he had been there all the afternoon,

and had not yet produced the slightest effect."

Mr. Lamb's face was by this time a deep crimson, and, feeling it

useless to attempt to withdraw any longer from observation, he advanced

to the table and placed upon it a pair of hands so large, soft, and

yielding that, when they at last stopped spreading, seemed to cover

two-thirds of the table.

"Ah, that is something like!" said Mr. Floyd, highly satisfied with his

new recruit.

But yet the table did not move as soon as before. Several times I

fancied I observed a preparatory quiver in it, and the exclamations

of those around it showed that they also were in expectation of some

decided result; but we were as often disappointed. Looking closely, I

thought that Mr. Archer's hands rested more heavily on the table than

was expedient. I suggested this to him, and he thanked me politely, and

showed such an evident desire to do nothing out of rule that he quite

won my approval.

"My fingers are tingling," said one of the ladies.

"So are mine," said Mr. Archer.

But nothing came of it. After a long waiting, Edith Floyd burst out

with, "I am so tired!" in a low, sighing whisper.

Instantly, the table began to move, very slowly and cautiously at

first. But soon it increased its velocity, until the excited group

around it could hardly keep pace with it. It whirled from one end of

the drawing-room to the other with a rapidity never before seen in

Westbridge.

"Not so bad a substitute for the waltz," said Mr. Harrison, as he

watched the movers running, laughing, and exclaiming, mingled in

apparently inextricable confusion. "I would not object to take a turn

myself."

That was an unfortunate speech. One by one the movers withdrew their

hands, until at last Mr. Lamb was left alone standing by the table in

the middle of the room. In great confusion, he retired, and very soon

the company dispersed.

That was the climax of the table-moving mania in Westbridge. What might

have happened, if we had gone on, cannot be conjectured. We might all

have been hearing mysterious rappings, and conversing with those most

earthy spirits, whose utter barrenness and poverty of intellect have

not hindered them from misleading some of our thoughtful and earnest

minds.

The very day after Mrs. Dutton's _soirée_, Professor Faraday's

exposition of the whole jugglery came out, and even the "Westbridge

Chronicle" had the barbarity to publish it, "for the benefit," it said,

"of some of its readers," when everybody in Westbridge knew that the

editor had piqued himself on the possession of more electricity than

any one else in town. The subject of table-moving is now a forbidden

one in Westbridge. I have not heard an allusion to it for the last six

month.

Yet, I fancy, it has produced some results; for Edith's two aunts, who

were wont to delight in the most severe strictures on the young men

of the present day, now make, in their sweeping assertions, a marked

exception in favor of Mr. Reginald Archer.

* * * * *

INSTRUCTIONS FOR MAKING ORNAMENTS IN RICE SHELL-WORK.

[THIRD AND CONCLUDING ARTICLE.]

[Illustration: BASKET IN RICE SHELL-WORK.]

We have hitherto only described those rice-shell ornaments which are

adapted for wear. It is time we proceed to describe some of those

ornamental articles for the drawing-room which can be manufactured,

and which, from their delicacy, lightness, and rarity, are admirably

adapted for presents.

Baskets of various kinds and forms may be made, either of the shells

only, or of shells and card-board. Perforated card-board is the best

when that material is used, as it saves trouble, and forms the pattern

more evenly.

If we would make a card-basket or tray, for the reception of visitors'

cards, the requisite number of pieces to form the article must be

shaped out from the colored perforated card-board, and the pattern or

arabesque, which is to be worked on it with the shells, pencilled.

Colored card-board should be used, because that throws up the pure

white of the shells. Having joined the different pieces together which

form the basket, by sewing them with fine chenil, or silk twist, we

take about half a yard of the finest silver wire and attach it to the

basket at the place we purpose commencing the pattern, and bring it

through one of the holes or perforations just there. We then thread

a shell on it, and pass the wire through another hole so situated

as, when the wire is drawn tight, to cause the shell to lie in that

direction which will make it fall into its right position in the

pattern. The wire must then be returned to the right side again, and

another shell threaded on it, and the same manœuvre gone through;

or, if it be intended to work a shell pattern inside and outside the

basket, a second shell must be threaded on the wire before it is

returned to the right side, and that adjusted into its place by a

proceeding similar to the one just described. It is, however, difficult

to manage the two patterns at once; one is sure to mar the other to a

greater or less extent; therefore, it will always be best either to

make the basket very open and tray-shaped, and to work the pattern on

the inside, which will then be the only one much seen; or else to make

it rather close and upright, so as to show chiefly the outside, and to

work the pattern there.

Baskets may be made of unperforated card-board by gumming the pattern

with a very thick solution of gum-dragon, and then sticking the shells

on in their proper places.

In all kinds of baskets made with rice-shells, the back of the shell is

to form the surface, and the opening to be turned inwards.

The basket, of which we have given a cut, is composed of shells,

and the coarsest of the three sizes of silver wire. It is made in

lattice-work, or squares, and requires some art to mould or shape it

into form.

We commence at the bottom, and with the central square. A length of

wire, measuring twelve or fourteen inches, must be taken, and the small

shells used. Thread four shells on the wire, arranging them so that

the point of the first meets the point of the second, and the end of

the second meets the end of the third; while the point of the third

meets the point of the fourth. Push them along the wire to within

about an inch of the end, then bend them into a square, and twist the

short end of the wire firmly and neatly with the other, and cut off

the superfluous bit. Now thread three shells on the wire, so arranged

that the end of the first and the point of the third shall meet the

corresponding end and point of that shell of the square already formed,

which, when these three are bent into their positions, will constitute

the fourth side of this second square. Loop the wire through the corner

of the foundation square, and we have the second completed.

A certain firmness, divested, however, of tightness, is requisite in

performing these manipulations; for, if the shells are jammed too

closely together, the work will have an uneven, stiff appearance,

whereas, if they are left too loose, the fabric will never set in form,

and will look slovenly. The drawing the wire through the corners of the

preceding squares, in order to complete the one which is being worked,

too, is a nice operation, which must be gently done, or we may crack

the work; and securely and neatly managed, or the squares will not be

firm and compact.

Three shells are now again to be symmetrically threaded, and formed

into a square, and fastened down to the central one. Two other squares

are then to be formed in like manner, and we now have five, or one on

each of the four sides of the foundation square. All the sixteen shells

used for this should be small, and as nearly as possible of a size.

The wire is now passed up through the inside of the shell nearest to

it, and it will be found that the next round of squares will be formed,

first, by threading two shells, and bending them into position, and

fastening them down at the corner, over the place where the preceding

round has left us two sides of a square, and then by threading three

shells, and bringing them into shape, where we have only one side ready

for us. The two shells, and the three shells, used alternately, will

produce another round, consisting of eight squares. Care must be taken

to use shells of equal size for a round, although in each fresh round

the size of the shells should be in a slight degree increased. The

backs of the shells must all lie one way, and the openings the other;

the latter constitutes the inside of the basket, as they do not look so

uniform and handsome.

The following engraving will give an idea of the appearance of the

fabric in an early stage.

[Illustration]

When it is necessary to take a fresh length of wire, it must be joined

on close to the corner of a completed square, by twisting it firmly

and neatly with the end of the length just used up, and cutting up the

superfluous point.

The third round is formed as the second, by using alternately the two

and the three shells as required to complete the squares.

The number of rounds which are to be worked for the bottom depends

entirely upon the size which we design to make the basket. In general,

these three, or at any rate four rounds, will be sufficient to make a

very pretty sized one.

The next round is to be worked exactly in the same way and with exactly

the same sized shells as the last one of the bottom, and, after it is

worked, it is to be turned up like a rim all round. This commences the

basket itself.

These rounds are now to be added with the small shells, and shaped

into form; and then the middle-sized shells, in rounds of gradually

increasing size, are to be used for about six rounds; and then the

large shells, in gradually increasing size, are to be brought in use

and continued until the basket is finished.

It will soon be perceived, while working, that it will occasionally be

necessary to miss a square, or to add one or more here and there in

order to preserve the raised, and opened, and rounded form requisite

for the oval of a basket. The symmetrical arrangement of the points and

ends must be carefully attended to, or else the star-like combinations,

which add so materially to the appearance of the fabric, will be marred

or lost.

A pair of tweezers, or very small nippers, may be used for twisting

the wire when fastening on a fresh length, as the fingers will thus be

saved, and additional firmness obtained.

Having raised the basket-work to the required height, which, when the

bottom consists of four rounds, should be about six inches, a piece of

round silk wire, either white or colored, and exactly the size, but not

larger than the circle of the top of the basket, must be taken, and

firmly attached to the edge of the basket with middle-sized wire; this

is to give shape and firmness to the work, and to this another piece of

wire is attached, to form the handle.

The basket must now be trimmed, and for this purpose we make two light

and graceful wreaths, one long enough to go round the top of the

basket, and the other as long as the handle. The single flower, the

bud, the spiral group, and leaves of seven or nine shells each, are

what will be required for an ordinary-sized basket. When the wreath

is made in simple rice shell-work, the stems must be twisted, and the

wreath bound together with fine silver wire, and attached to the handle

and to the circular wire with the same; the silk wire used must be

white.

If, however, the wreath is to be made in the "composite" style, light

flower-seeds or small glass beads may be introduced into the centre of

the flowers, and the stems may be wound, and the wreaths put together

with floss silk, and then they are to be attached to the handle and

circular wire with fine chenil. The following combinations are pretty

and effective: beads or seeds of pink, or yellow, or coral, or blue,

and the stems of the flowers and buds wound with silk to match, the

stems of the leaves wound with green, and the wreaths attached in their

places with green chenil. There should not be more than two colors,

the green and one other, used at a time, and these should be delicate

shades; for the shells have so pure and light an appearance, that

anything in the least degree showy or gaudy spoils the effect of the

whole.

Pendent from below each end of the handle, should be a grape-like bunch

of shells, not set on so closely together as in the wheat-ear, or so

far apart as in a leaf, and reaching about half way down the basket.

When completed, the article should be placed under a glass case to

preserve it from dust and injury, and a few wax or artificial flowers

may be tastefully arranged in it with advantage.

A square basket, or a long, straight-sided one, or one in almost any

given shape, may be made in this lattice-work, by manufacturing each

piece separately, and in the required shape, and then lacing them

together with silver wire, chenil, or twist. There is, however, no

trimming more graceful, or better adapted for them, than the wreath.

If thought fit, the wreath, however, need only be put round the top of

the basket, and the handle made of a succession of squares of the kind

we have described.

Light wreaths, either of "simple" or "composite" rice shell-work, may,

with very pretty effect, be entwined around alabaster vases or baskets.

For wedding-cakes, rice-shell wreaths and bouquets, with silver bullion

in the flowers, are both tasteful and appropriate.

Intermingled with groups of the wax, or artificial, or feather, or

paper flowers, the shell-leaves and double and daisy flowers look very

pretty.

As the shells never wear out, when any ornament is crushed, or soiled,

or tarnished, it can be cut up, the wires picked out, and the shells,

when washed and dried, will be ready to be used again and again.

But we are sure that we have suggested quite enough to our readers to

enable them to devise for themselves many other pretty and fanciful

uses for this work, and we feel convinced that, when once they have

overcome the first difficulties of learning it, they will find pleasure

in seeing the graceful articles that will, as it were, develop

themselves under their busy fingers.

And so we now take our leave of this subject for the present,

commending it to the favorable attention of those who may have taken

the trouble to peruse what we have written.

ROMAN WOMEN IN THE DAYS OF THE CÆSARS.

BY H. P. HAYNES.

The condition of woman constitutes an important part of the complete

history of any age or country. In her own appropriate sphere, she

exerts an influence, powerful and enduring, for the political

greatness, the moral grandeur, and general prosperity of a state, as

well as for its social peace and harmony. In her heart dwell, for the

most part, the charity, the virtue, the moral soundness of communities,

and, it almost might be said, the patriotism of a people. Her character

and condition are the character and condition of the society of which

she is a component part. In those countries and climes where the female

is made a slave, or treated with unmerited severity, the males are not

men, but the most brutal of savages. Where civilization, Christianity,

and refinement allow woman her proper level, man is the exponent

of real humanity and intelligence. The annals of ages are but an

accumulation of evidence establishing these truths.

The graver of the Athenians, in the age of Pericles, attributed the

decline of those virtues which, in all ages, have been considered the

brightest ornaments of the sex, and the consequent increase of vice

in the republic, to the pernicious influence of the beautiful and

fascinating Aspasia. To her they imputed the crime of seducing the

first orator and statesman of his time. On the other hand, the stern

virtue, the heroism, the self-denying patriotism of the sons of Sparta,

were legacies from their mothers. They shunned no dangers, feared no

enemy, shrank from no hardship, and, when they met an honorable death

in combat with the invaders of Grecian soil, the brave-hearted matrons

consoled themselves with the idea that for this purpose they had given

birth to children.

When Carthage was for the last time besieged by the Romans, the

patriotic women of that devoted city imparted to her warrior defenders

a portion of their heroism and love of country, and cut off their

tresses for bowstrings for the archers.

Roman history has described with great minuteness the extraordinary

virtue and the excellent domestic habits of Lucretia, her sad fate,

and the sympathy it awakened, and the indignation it aroused in the

hearts of all good citizens. Her sacred regard for her own honor--that

honor insulted by a corrupt nobleman, an unprincipled monarch--proved a

death-blow to kingly power for a season in Rome. Whether the story of

Lucretia be a cunningly-devised fable, or veritable, sober history, is

not material, since it illustrates a principle well substantiated by

all history and observation, that insults to female virtue and honor

do not escape unavenged. Cleopatra, the beautiful and accomplished

Egyptian queen, subdued successively the hearts of two stern

Romans--heroes who had met the wildest shocks of battle undismayed,

and who had never quailed with fear, nor scarce melted with pity. In

her magic fingers hung, at an important crisis, the fate of the Roman

empire. Her influence was as destructive as her presence was potential

and commanding. These are marked instances of woman's influence, and of

her characteristics.

The reign of Octavius Cæsar was the golden age of Rome. At that period,

the almost unlimited control of the civilized world was hers. Her

colonies were planted on every shore of the known world--the Roman

eagles triumphed in every clime. Three continents paid her tribute. One

intervening sea washed their shores and wafted her fleets. Extensive

sway and the contributions of wealthy nations had not only rendered

her proud and insolent, but corrupt, and, in a measure, cruel. The

principal distinctions in her society were those of wealth and power,

rather than of talents, sobriety, and virtue. The corrupt and the vile

were, for the most part, the esteemed and highly favored.

There were numerous instances, it is true, of patriotism, virtue, and

highmindedness among Roman citizens of this period, well worthy of

imitation and remembrance. There was a sort of refinement of which the

earlier Romans did not boast, and which they openly condemned. Grecian

art and learning, combined with the wealth and vices introduced from

the East, had wrought a great change in the national character and

habits. Republican simplicity had given place to excessive extravagance

and prodigality. In this, as in every age, woman acted no indifferent

part in the everyday drama of Roman life. She was herself extravagant,

and, if the history of that period be truly narrated, not always a

discourager of vice and dissipation. Cicero, the greatest intellect

Rome ever produced, with the exception, it may be, of Julius Cæsar,

lived at this age in Rome, and contributed, in no small degree, to give

it the title golden. He was, we are told, not only of the highest order

of human intelligences, but a man of wisdom and purity of character.

While he united in his own person all the noble qualifications of an

able statesman, a brilliant scholar and orator, a learned and ingenious

lawyer, and a good citizen, as well as a devoted father and husband,

his first wife, Teruntia, was nearly the opposite. That he did not lack

in kindness towards her, his known characteristics and disposition, as

well as his letters to her when at a distance, fully prove. His social

qualities eminently fitted him to discharge the duties of a husband in

the most amiable manner. Teruntia, though of a rich and noble family,

was of a turbulent and impetuous spirit, negligent, intriguing, and

finally became so uncongenial a companion to the illustrious orator

that he became divorced from her. He afterwards connected himself by

marriage with another Roman lady of great wealth; but from her likewise

he separated himself, finding her destitute of social kindness,

domestic affection, and humanity.

Tullia, Cicero's daughter, is awarded a high rank among Roman ladies

of her time; but she was thrice married, and as many times divorced.

The cause may not have been hers so much as her husband's, or it may

have been more attributable to the loose morals of the age than to

either party in particular. If, however, Tullia was wanting in those

domestic qualities so necessary to the permanent calm of married life,

she was not destitute of learning and the polite accomplishments of

her time. She is said, by Roman historians, to have been an "admirable

woman"--affectionate and piously observant of her father--one of the

most learned of Roman women.

In the earlier days of Rome, the noblest matrons were noted for nothing

more than their excellent domestic habits--industry, frugality,

and devotion to and affection for their families. The greatness of

that vast empire was founded not more in the devoted patriotism and

persevering energy of the Roman citizens, than in the incorruptible

virtue, the sacrificing spirits, and noble hearts of Roman matrons. Not

so in the declining days of the republic. Not so when the robust and

vigorous youth of the nation began to tremble with advancing years,

and to wreath its brow with gray hairs--a result not of age and toil

and serious care, but of dissipation and inglorious ease, of wealth,

and wine, and extravagant feasts. Not so when the humble cottage, the

home wherein dwelt domestic peace and content, was exchanged for a

marble palace, decorated with statues and paintings, lined with Tyrian

couches, bespangled with gold and silver ornaments, and thronged with

slaves. Not so when the Cæsars and Mark Antony ruled the imperial

city with hordes of mercenary soldiers; nor when the republic was

metamorphosed into an empire, and all regard to life, property, and

private right had, in a measure, ceased. The social and domestic

character of Roman society were so sadly changed, and foreign vice and

corruption became naturalized to such an extent, that the decay of the

empire is no marvel.

The simplicity and integrity of earlier times were the base on which

was reared a magnificent national superstructure. Thereon was based

the sure growth, the gradual, healthy expansion of Roman power, till

all the tribes and nations of the earth respected and feared it.

Therein consisted the peculiar glory of Rome's first estate--of her

earlier conquests--that force of character and energy of action that

wearied Pyrrhus, conquered Mithridates, and overwhelmed Carthage. No

coward dared return from a field which he had dishonored to the bosom

of his wife, his sister, or his family; for they scorned and detested

cowardice and unmanly and unsoldierly behavior, while they honored

bravery and patriotism, whether manifested against the invaded or in an

offensive war against a foreign foe. They applauded whatever was noble,

generous, and manly; though, to gratify this spirit, husbands, fathers,

brothers, and sons were sacrificed on war's grim altar. The inflexible

mandates of the immortal gods were to be observed at whatever cost.

The citizens were instruments in the hands of the deities to avenge

wrongs, to enforce right, and to glorify the city of their birth. The

great dramatic bard, in "Coriolanus," makes Volumnia, the mother of

Marcius Coriolanus, say: "Hear me profess sincerely. Had I a dozen

sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good

Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for his country than one

voluptously surfeit out of action." She but spoke the spirit of her

time; and her language is but the language of Roman matrons of her age.

Thus grew and flourished, as by magic forces and divine ordination,

the city of Romulus, the world's hope and dread, at once the saviour

and destroyer of civilization, whose porous social system absorbed

and quickly dissolved the mysteries of Egypt, the classic beauties of

Greece, and the wealth of the "exhaustless East."

But the great distinguishing trait in the Roman woman, in the days

of the republic and under the earlier kings, was her attention to

household employments. This the Roman expected of his wife--it was

enjoined upon her by the marriage rite. Thus, indeed, it was among

most of the more enlightened nations of antiquity. The noble born of

both sexes did not disdain to toil in their appropriate spheres; the

prince of royal blood was proud of holding the plough and of acting the

husbandman, and daughters of princes were not ashamed to ply the needle

or tend the distaff.

"So it was of old

That woman's hand, amid the elements

Of patient industry and household good,

Reproachless wrought, twining the slender thread

From the light distaff; or, in the skilful loom,

Weaving rich tissues, or, with glowing tints

Of rich embroidery, pleased to decorate

The mantle of her lord. And it was well;

For in such sheltered and congenial sphere

Content with duty dwells."

The great veneration for home, and love for its pursuits and

associations, grew weaker and weaker as the state exchanged a popular

government for the reign of military dictators and kings. In the

Augustan age, though instances of female virtue, nobility, and culture

are not few, we find from the scanty records of female history of

those times extant, which, indeed, are merely incidental, that woman

is less often the ideal of self-sacrificing worth and of retiring

modesty, less noted for her attachment to her family, her home, and

her domestic pursuits, less careful in the training of her children,

than formerly. In earlier times, no Roman matron coveted the infamous

character of a masculine conspirator; no Roman woman left her quiet

hearth disgracefully to insult the remains of a murdered citizen; no

Roman woman had instigated a civil war, or proscribed her victims for

assassination.

Fulvia, the ambitious wife of Mark Antony, did all this. After the

assassination of Clodius, she raised a sedition. Imitating, or

rather out-rivalling the cruelty of her husband, she joined in his

proscriptions, that Roman blood might flow by Roman hands still more

freely. After the great Cicero had been slain in a spirit of the most

relentless and vindictive cruelty, and his head brought to Antony,

Fulvia took it on her knees, broke out in a torrent of cowardly and

abusive epithets on the character of the deceased, and then, with the

most fiendish inhumanity, pierced his tongue with her golden bodkin.

During the absence of her husband in the East, she not only endeavored

to stir up insurrections, but sold the government of provinces and

decreed unmerited triumphs. What an eternity of infamy should be hers

for such deeds as these! What an example in the wife of a ruler for the

imitation of an empire! When such a spirit actuates the female mind,

when coupled with ambition, recommended by beauty and intelligence, and

supported by power, it is sadly to be deplored. That ambition which

at any time induces woman to step beyond her sphere, to take upon

her shoulders masculine responsibilities, to take part in political

struggles and sectional wrangles, to usurp the places and duties of

those who were created and destined to cherish and protect her, it

is, for her own sake, to be regretted. Such attempts are not only

pernicious in their influence, but they tend to render those unhappy

who make them. Such are the results of our reflection and observation,

and such is the lesson taught by impartial history.

In the life of Fulvia, however, we do not get a fair representation of

the female character of her time, but merely some of its tendencies.

A spirit of insubordination to the laws of place and the rules of

decorum; an overweening ambition that steps without household limits;

assumption of power far beyond the reach of female duties; arrogance

and haughtiness from the high official station of the husband;

vindictive cruelty to avenge a fancied or a real wrong; prodigality and

masculine pride, oftener perceptible in this age than formerly--were

unmistakable indications of its character and tendencies. Yet the

picture was not altogether sad, though at various points dark shadows

were visible. Here and there the heaviness of the prospect was relieved

by the most delightful views and cheering lights. The wife of the

second Brutus is portrayed by the great limner of human character, in

"Julius Cæsar," as worthy the beautiful tribute bestowed by her husband.

In this play, Portia is made to act the part and display the genuine

qualities of a "true wife," understanding her duties as such, and

manifesting all due sympathy and affection for her husband, as is shown

where she beseeches Brutus to reveal to her why he is heavy in heart,

the secrets of his bosom, and what designs he cherishes:--

PORTIA.

Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,

Is it excepted I should know no secrets

But, as it were, in sort or limitation;

To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,

And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs

Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,

Portia is Brutus's harlot, not his wife.

BRUTUS.

You are my true and honorable wife!

As dear to me as are the ruddy drops

That visit my sick heart!

PORTIA.

Then should I know this secret.

I grant I am a woman; but, withal,

A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife:

I grant I am a woman; but, withal,

A woman well reputed--Cato's daughter.

Think you I am no stronger than my sex,

Being so fathered, and so husbanded?

Tell me your counsels; I will not disclose them.

I have given strong proof of my constancy,

Giving myself a voluntary wound.

---------------- Can I bear that with patience,

And not my husband's secrets?

BRUTUS.

Oh, ye gods,

Render me worthy of this noble wife!

In the same play, Shakspeare would have us believe that Calpurnia, wife

of Cæsar, had quite persuaded her husband not to go to the senate house

on the fatal ides of March, though then and there he was to be crowned

and clothed with regal power. The apprehensions she had raised in his

mind were, however, dispelled by Oceius Brutus.

Antony's second wife, Octavia, was quite the reverse of Fulvia in

character and disposition. She was of a gentle and peaceable spirit,

doing her strict duty to her husband long after he had ceased to

deserve her confidence or respect. The marriage, on the whole, was

an unhappy one, being suggested by policy and public expediency, and

effected for the purpose of uniting two powerful factions. Octavia

was, for a considerable period, instrumental in preventing a rupture

between her brother and husband, though that event finally occurred,

with the most disastrous consequences to Antony. Though Antony was an

able general, a man of capacity and great personal courage, yet he had

so involved himself in the dissipations and luxuries of the Egyptian

court, whose crowning star was Cleopatra, that he was no match for

the graver and more calculating Augustus. The charms of Cleopatra had

completely unmanned him, and smothered, in a measure, his ambition.