CHAPTER XXI.

ACCOMPLISHMENTS.

In the present age, when education is within the reach of all, both rich

and poor, every lady will endeavor to become, not only well educated,

but accomplished. It is not, as some will assert, a waste of time or

money. Not only the fingers, voice, and figure are improved, but the

heart and intellect will become refined, and the happiness greatly

increased.

Take the young lady after a solid basis has been laid in her mind of the

more important branches of education, and rear upon that basis the

structure of lighter education--the accomplishments. To cultivate these,

disregarding the more solid information, is to build your castle without

any foundation, and make it, not only absurd, but unsteady. The pleasure

of hearing from a lady a _cavatina_ executed in the most finished

manner, will be entirely destroyed, if her first spoken words after the

performance are vulgar, or her sentence ungrammatical.

A lady without her piano, or her pencil, her library of French, German,

or Italian authors, her fancy work and tasteful embroideries, is now

rarely met with, and it is right that such arts should be universal. No

woman is fitted for society until she dances well; for home, unless she

is perfect mistress of needlework; for her own enjoyment, unless she has

at least one accomplishment to occupy thoughts and fingers in her hours

of leisure.

First upon the list of accomplishments, comes the art of conversing

well. It is always ready. Circumstances in society will constantly throw

you into positions where you can use no other accomplishment. You will

not have a musical instrument within reach, singing would be out of

place, your fancy work at home, on many occasions, and then you can

exert your most fascinating as well as useful accomplishment, the art of

conversing well.

Little culture, unfortunately, is bestowed upon this accomplishment,

which, beyond all others, promotes the happiness of home, enlivens

society, and improves the minds of both speaker and listener. How many

excellent women are deficient in the power of expressing themselves

well, or, indeed, of expressing themselves at all! How many minds "cream

and mantle" from the want of energy to pour themselves out in words! On

the other hand, how some, equally well-intentioned, drown the very

senses in their torrent of remarks, which dashes, like a water-fall,

into a sombre pool of _ennui_ below!

One lady will enter society, well-dressed, well-looking, polite; she

does not intend to chill it by her presence; yet her absence is found a

relief. She takes her place as if she considered it sufficient to dress

and look well. She brings no stock to the community of ideas. Her eyes

return no response to the discourse which is going on. When you have

once glanced at her, she becomes a mere expletive in the company.

Another one will be found a talker. She is like a canary bird; when

others begin to speak, she hurries in her remarks, in an accompaniment.

Her voice must be uppermost; conversation becomes a contest who can

speak the most rapidly. The timid and modest retire from the

encounter--she has the field to herself. She goes on, without mercy; the

voice of a syren would fatigue, if heard continually. Others revolt at

the injustice of the monopoly, and the words fall on ears that would be

deaf if they could.

These are extreme cases; there are many other minor errors. The higher

qualities of conversation must undoubtedly be based upon the higher

qualities of the mind; then it is, indeed, a privilege to commune with

others.

To acquire the power of thus imparting the highest pleasure by

conversational powers, attention must be paid to literature. I am

supposing the solid foundation of a good education already laid, but by

literature, I do not mean only that class of it which is taught at

school.

Reading, at the present day, is too much confined to light literature. I

would not speak against this. The modern novels, and the poets of all

ages, are good reading, but let them be taken in moderation, and varied

by something more solid. Let them be the dessert to the more substantial

_dinner_ of history, travels, and works of a like nature.

Independent of the strength and polish given to the mind by a thorough

course of reading, there is another reason why a lady should devote some

portion of her time to it; she cannot do without it. She may, lacking

this, pass through life respectably, even elegantly; but she cannot take

her part in a communing with superior minds; she may enjoy, in

wondering, the radiance of their intelligence; but the wondering must be

composed, in part, of amazement at her own folly, in not having herself

sought out the treasure concealed in the fathomless depths of books. She

cannot truly enjoy society, with this art neglected. She may, for a few

brief years, be the ornament of the drawing-room; but it must be, like

many other ornaments there, in still life; she can never be the

companion of the intellectual; and the time is gone by, when women, with

all their energies excited, will be contented to be the mere plaything

of brother, husband, or father.

Still it is not to the erudite, nor to the imaginative only, that it is

given to please in conversation.

The art of imparting our ideas easily and elegantly to others, may be

improved by ourselves, if there are opportunities of mingling in good

society, with little study. The mind must first be cultivated; but it

should not abash those who are conscious of moderate talents, or

imperfect cultivation, from taking a due part in conversation, on

account of their inferiority. It is a very different thing to shine and

to please; to shine in society is more frequently attempted than

compassed: to please is in the power of all. The effort to shine, when

fruitless, brings a certain disgrace, and engenders mortification; all

good people are inclined to take the will for the deed, when they see a

desire to please. A gentle, deferential, kind manner, will disarm even

the most discerning from criticising too severely the deficiencies of

the inexperienced; confidence, disrespect of others, volubility,

eagerness to dispute, must irritate the self-love of others, and produce

an averseness to acknowledge talent or information, where they may even

happen to exist.

It is wiser and safer for a young lady, in general, to observe the good,

old-fashioned rule of being addressed first; but then she must receive

the address readily, meeting it half way, repaying it by enlarging a

little upon the topic thus selected, and not sinking into a dull

silence, the moment after a reply is given. Some young ladies start, as

if thunderstruck, when spoken to, and stare as if the person who pays

them that attention, had no right to awaken them from their reverie.

Others look affronted, possibly from shyness, and begin a derogatory

attack upon the beauty of their dress by twitching the front breadth--or

move from side to side, in evident distress and consternation. Time

remedies these defects; but there is one less curable and less

endurable--that of pertness and flippancy--the loud remarks and

exclamations--the look of self-sufficiency and confidence. But these

offensive manifestations spring from some previous and deep-seated

defects of character, and are only to be repelled by what, I fear, they

will frequently encounter--the mortification of inspiring disgust.

Neither is the lengthy, prosy, didactic reply, consistent with the

submission and simplicity of youth; egotism, and egotism once removed,

that is, the bringing into the topic one's own family and relations, are

also antidotes to the true spirit of conversation. In general, it is

wiser, more in good taste, safer, more becoming, certainly more in

accordance with good breeding, to avoid talking of persons. There are

many snares in such topics; not merely the danger of calumniating, but

that of engendering a slippery conscience in matters of fact. A young

girl, shy and inexpert, states a circumstance; she feels her deficiency

as a narrator, for the power of telling a story, is a power to be

acquired only by practice. She is sometimes tempted to heighten a little

the incidents, in order to get on a little better, and to make more

impression. She must of course defend her positions, and then she perils

the sanctity of truth. Besides, few things narrow the intellect more

than dwelling on the peculiarities, natural or incidental, of that small

coterie of persons who constitute our world.

It is, in general, a wise rule, and one which will tend much to insure

your comfort through life, to avoid disclosures to others of family

affairs. I do not mean to recommend reserve, or art; to friends and

relations, too great frankness can hardly be practised; but, with

acquaintance, the less our own circumstances are discussed, the happier,

and the more dignified will our commerce with them continue. On the same

principle, let the concerns of others be touched upon with delicacy, or,

if possible, passed over in silence; more especially those details which

relate to strictly personal or family affairs. Public deeds are, of

course, public property. But personal affairs are private; and there is

a want of true good breeding, a want of consideration and deference, in

speaking freely of them, even if your friend is unconscious of the

liberty taken.

It seems paradoxical to observe that the art of listening well forms a

part of the duty of conversation. To give up the whole of your attention

to the person who addresses himself to you, is sometimes a heavy tax,

but it is one which we must pay for the privileges of social life, and

an early practice will render it an almost involuntary act of good

breeding; whilst consideration for others will give this little

sacrifice a merit and a charm.

To listen well is to make an unconscious advance in the power of

conversing. In listening we perceive in what the interest, in what the

failure of others consists; we become, too, aware of our own

deficiencies, without having them taught through the medium of

humiliation. We find ourselves often more ignorant than we could have

supposed possible. We learn, by a very moderate attention to the sort of

topics which please, to form a style of our own. The "art of

conversation" is an unpleasant phrase. The power of conversing well is

least agreeable when it assumes the character of an _art_.

In listening, a well-bred lady will gently sympathize with the speaker;

or, if needs must be, differ, as gently. Much character is shown in the

act of listening. Some people appear to be in a violent hurry whilst

another speaks; they hasten on the person who addresses them, as one

would urge on a horse--with incessant "Yes, yes, very good--indeed--

proceed!" Others sit, on the full stare, eyes fixed as those of an owl,

upon the speaker. Others will receive every observation with a little

hysterical giggle.

But all these vices of manner may be avoided by a gentle attention and

a certain calm dignity of manner, based upon a reflective, cultivated

mind.

Observation, reading, and study, will form the groundwork for good

powers of conversation, and the more you read, study, and see, the more

varied and interesting will be your topics.

A young lady should consider music as one branch of her education,

inferior, in importance, to most of those studies which are pointed out

to her, but attainable in a sufficient degree by the aid of time,

perseverance, and a moderate degree of instruction. Begun early, and

pursued steadily, there is ample leisure in youth for the attainment of

a science, which confers more cheerfulness, and brings more pleasure

than can readily be conceived.

A young lady should be able to play with taste, correctness, and

readiness, upon the general principle that a well educated woman should

do all things well. This, I should suppose, is in the power of most

persons; and it may be attained without loss of health, of time, or any

sacrifice of an important nature. She should consider it as an

advantage, a power to be employed for the gratification of others, and

to be indulged with moderation and good sense for her own resource, as a

change of occupation.

Consider in this light, music is what Providence intended it to be--a

social blessing. The whole creation is replete with music,--a benignant

Power has made the language of the feathered tribe harmony; let us not

suppose that He condemns his other creatures to silence in the song.

Music has an influence peculiar to itself. It can allay the irritation

of the mind; it cements families, and makes a home, which might

sometimes be monotonous, a scene of pleasant excitement. Pursued as a

recreation, it is gentle, rational, lady-like. Followed as a sole

object, it loses its charm, because we perceive it is then over-rated.

The young lady who comes modestly forward, when called upon as a

performer, would cease to please, were she, for an instant, to assume

the air and confidence of a professional musician. There is a certain

style and manner--confined now to second-rate performers, for the

highest and most esteemed dispense with it--there is an effort and a

dash, which disgust in the lady who has bad taste enough to assume them.

And, whilst I am on this topic, let me remark that there is a great deal

in the _choice_ of music, in the selection of its character, its

suitability to your feelings, style, and taste, and this especially with

respect to vocal music.

There is no doubt that a good Italian style is the best for instruction,

and that it produces the most careful and accomplished singers. Suppose

a case. Your parents, most fair reader, have paid a high price to some

excellent professor, to instruct you--and, with a fair ear, and a

sufficient voice, you have been taught some of those elaborate songs

which are most popular at the opera. A party is assembled--music is one

of the diversions. Forth you step, and, with a just apprehension of the

difficulties of your task, select one of those immortal compositions

which the most eminent have made their study; you execute it

wonderfully, only just falling a _little_ short of all the song should

be; only just provoking a comparison, in every mind, with a high

standard, present in the memory of every cultivated musician near you. A

cold approval, or a good-natured "bravo!" with, believe me, though you

do not hear it, a thorough, and, often, expressed conviction that you

had better have left the thing alone, follows the effort which has

merely proclaimed the fact that, spite of time and money spent upon the

cultivation of your voice, you are but a second-rate singer.

But, choose a wiser, a less pretending, a less conspicuous path. Throw

your knowledge into compositions of a less startling, less aspiring

character. Try only what you can compass. Be wise enough not to proclaim

your deficiencies, and the critics will go away disarmed, even if they

are not charmed. But if there be _any_ voice, _any_ feeling, _any_

science, the touching melody, made vocal by youth and taste, will obtain

even a far higher degree of encomium than, perhaps, it actually merits.

You will please--you will be asked to renew your efforts. People will

not be afraid of cadenzas five minutes long, or of bravuras, every note

of which makes one hope it may be the last.

It is true that, to a person who loves music, the performance of one of

the incomparable songs of Bellini, Rosini, Flotow, or Mozart, is an

actual delight--but; when attempted by a young amateur, it should be,

like many other delights, confined to the private circle, and not

visited upon society in general.

Do not suppose that I mean to recommend poor music, or feeble,

ephemeral compositions. What is good need not, of necessity, be always

difficult. Ballad music is rich in songs adapted for the private

performer--and there are many, in Italian, of great beauty, which,

though they would not be selected for a concert-room, or for brilliant

display, are adapted for ladies.

Music is the greatest, best substitute for conversation. It has many

merits, in this light. It can never provoke angry retort; it can never

make enemies; it can injure no one's character by slander; and in

playing and singing one can commit no indiscretion.

Music is a most excellent amusement, and, in society, an indispensable

one. It aids conversation by occasionally interrupting it for a short

period, to be renewed with a new impetus. It makes the most delightful

recreation for the home circle, varying the toil and trouble of the

father's or husband's working day, by the pleasures of the evening made

by music's power to glide smoothly and swiftly.

There are but few persons who are entirely without a love for music,

even if they do not understand it. They will be borne along upon the

waves of a sweet melody to high, pure thoughts, often to delicious

memories.

The piano is, at the present day, the most popular instrument in

society. The harp has ceased to be fashionable, though it is sometimes

heard. The latter is a most beautiful accompaniment for the voice, but

requires a large room, as, in a small one, it will sound stringy and

harsh.

The guitar, while it makes a very pleasant accompaniment for the voice,

has also the advantage of being easily carried from place to place.

It requires as much judgment to select proper instrumental pieces for a

parlor performance, as you would display in a choice of songs. Page

after page of black, closely printed notes, will drive those who see

them from the piano. They may be executed in the most finished style,

but they are not suited to general society. In their place, for

practice, or for a musical soiree, where every one puts forth her best

musical powers, they are appropriate, and will give pleasure, but they

are not suited for a mixed party. When asked to play, choose, if you

will, a brilliant, showy piece, but let it be short. It is better still

to make no attempt at display, but simply try to please, selecting the

music your own judgment tells you is best suited to your audience.

Avoid the loud, thumping style, and also the over-solemn style.

Be sure, before you accept any invitation to play, that you know

perfectly the piece you undertake. It is better to play the simplest

airs in a finished, faultless manner, than to play imperfectly the most

brilliant variations.

Avoid movement at the piano. Swinging the body to and fro, moving the

head, rolling the eyes, raising the hands too much, are all bad tricks,

and should be carefully abstained from.

With respect to drawing, modeling, or any pursuits of the same nature,

so much depends on taste and opportunity, and they are so little the

accomplishments of society that they require but few of those

restrictions which music, in its use and abuse, demands. Drawing, like

music, should be cultivated early. Its advantages are the habits of

perseverance and occupation, which it induces; and the additional

delight which it gives to the works, both of nature and of art. Like

music, it gives independence--independence of society. The true lover of

the arts has a superiority over the indifferent, and, if she be not

better prepared for society, is much better fitted for retirement than

those who are not so happily endowed with tastes, when in moderation, so

innocent and beneficial.

There is no accomplishment more graceful, pleasing, healthy, and

lady-like, than that of riding well. Avoiding, at the same time,

timidity and the "fast" style, keeping within the bounds of elegant

propriety, gracefully yielding to the guidance of your escort, and

keeping your seat easily, yet steadily, are all points to be acquired.

To ride well is undoubtedly an admirable qualification for a lady, as

she may be as feminine in the saddle as in the ball room or home circle.

It is a mistaken idea to suppose that to become an accomplished

horse-woman a lady must unsex herself. But she must have a reserve in

her manner, that will prevent contamination from the intercourse which

too much riding may lead to. To hunt, or follow the field sports, in a

pursuit which is the track of blood, disgusts the true admirer of gentle

breeding. And such diversions will certainly result in a coarseness of

manner and expression, growing upon the fair equestrian slowly but

surely. A harsh voice, loud tone, expressions suited only to manly lips,

but unconsciously copied, will follow her devotion to the unfeminine

pursuit.

Nothing is more revolting than a woman who catches the tone and

expressions of men. To hear the slang of jockeyism from female lips, is

very offensive, yet ladies who mix in field sports are liable, nay,

almost certain, to fall into a style of conversation which is ten times

worse than the coarsest terms from the lips of a man. Instances there

are, of the fairest of our sex, from a fondness for such diversions, and

a habitual participation in such society, becoming hard, bold, and

disgusting, even whilst retaining all their female loveliness of person.

A lady, unless she lives in the most retired parts of the country,

should never ride alone, and even then she will be awkwardly placed, in

case of accident, without an escort. In the cities, not only is it

unfeminine, but positively dangerous, for a lady to ride unaccompanied

by a gentleman, or a man servant.

Although it is impossible, within the limits of this little volume, to

give many hints upon riding, a few may not be amiss. Like many other

accomplishments, a teacher is necessary, if you wish to attain

perfection, and no written directions can make you a finished

horse-woman, unless you have had tuition and practice.

1. In mounting you are desired, gentle Amazon, to spring gracefully into

your saddle, with the slight assistance of a hand placed beneath the

sole of the shoe, instead of scrambling uncouthly to your "wandering

throne," as Miss Fanshawe wittily calls it, from a high chair, as is

frequently done by those who have not been properly instructed. To mount

in the orthodox manner, you should stand nearly close to the horse,

level with the front of the saddle, and taking the reins slackly in your

right hand, you should place that hand on the nearest pommel, to secure

your balance in rising, and with your left hand gather up the front of

the habit, so as to leave the feet clear. The gentleman should place

himself firmly, near, but not so near to you as to impede your rising,

and with the same view must hold his head well back, as should he lose

his hat from a whisk of your habit the effect produced is not good. You

should then present your left foot, and the gentleman placing one hand

beneath its sole, and the other above, so as to possess a safe hold,

should, with nice judgment, give just such assistance as will enable you

easily, with a spring, to vault gracefully into the saddle. You will

then arrange your right leg comfortably over the pommel, your cavalier

will then place your left foot in the stirrup and arrange the flow of

the habit-skirt, and all is complete. All this, though so seemingly

simple and easy, requires some little practice to effect neatly and

gracefully.

2. Secondly, when riding with a gentleman, remember that you are best

placed on the _left_ side; because in that position the graceful flow of

your habit is seen to the greatest advantage, while it does not

inconvenience the gentleman by getting entangled with his stirrup, nor

does it receive the splashes of his horse.

3. But when you have a double attendance of cavaliers, if you be at all

a timid rider, it may become discreet to "_pack_" you (forgive the

homely phrase) between the two, since, in this position, you are the

most thoroughly protected from your own horse's shying, or from other

horses or vehicles approaching you too closely, being thus forced to

take that part of the road to which the better judgment of your

companions inevitably guides you. If you be an accomplished equestrian,

you will prefer being outside, and (as has been said) to the left.

Sit erect in the middle of your saddle, turning your face full towards

the head of your horse. Cling as closely as possible to the saddle, but

avoid stooping forward, or using your hands to keep you in your seat.

Nervous motions on horseback are not only ungraceful, but dangerous, as

your horse will not make any allowance for the delicacy of your nerves,

and may prove his objections to a jerking hand, or a twitching rein, in

a most decided and disagreeable manner.

The riding-dress, or habit, is best made to fit the figure tightly, with

tight sleeves. It may be open in the front, over a neatly fitting

chemisette, or buttoned close to the throat, with a neat linen collar

and cuffs. The loose sacque is ungraceful, but a basque is most becoming

on horseback. Gauntlet gloves, of leather, are the most suitable, and

must be loose enough to give your hand perfect freedom, yet not so loose

as to interfere with its motions. Do not wear the skirt too long; it

will be dangerous in case of accident, and it may prove annoying to your

horse. Your habit must be made of a material sufficiently heavy to hang

gracefully, and not move too much with the wind. For a winter habit, a

warmly-lined basque, trimmed at the throat and hands with fur, is an

elegant and appropriate dress, and a round cap of the same cloth as the

habit, with a band, and pieces to cover the ears, of fur to match the

dress trimmings, makes a handsome and appropriate dress.

In summer, your hat should be of fine straw, and slouched to shade the

face; in winter, of felt, or, if you prefer, a close cap of cloth. The

hat may be trimmed with feathers or knots of ribbon, and the shape

should be one to protect the complexion, at the same time graceful and

becoming.

Avoid any display in a riding dress. Choose a material of some dark or

neutral tint, and never use showy trimmings.

Curls, or any flowing loose style of wearing the hair, will be found

exceedingly troublesome on horseback. Arrange it neatly and compactly

under your hat, for if a stray curl or lock annoys you, or is blown

across your eyes by the wind, your hands will be too fully occupied to

remedy the difficulty.

Your whip should be light and small, tasteful if you will, but not

showy.

At the period for which these hints are intended, the Modern Languages

should form a portion of acquirement. As in music, an intelligent and

assiduous girl may, I believe, acquire an adequate degree of proficiency

in French, German, and Italian, without having been abroad, though a

foreign tour will be of the greatest use in the acquisition of the

accent and niceties of each tongue. With respect to French, it is no

doubt essential to comfort to understand it; it is one of the attributes

of a lady to speak it well; still, it is not indispensable to speak it

so well that the American lady is mistaken for a Parisian. This, which

but seldom happens, can only be acquired, in most cases, by a residence

abroad. But French is thoroughly and grammatically taught in America. It

is only the habit of speaking, the idioms and niceties, which cannot be

acquired except by converse with a native.

There are hundreds of competent instructors in this country, French

ladies and gentlemen amongst the number, who form classes for

conversation and familiarizing their pupils with these very idioms.

After availing herself of such advantages, a young lady will find that a

very short residence abroad will improve and facilitate her French

conversation.

Much, however, will depend upon how you use the opportunities within

your reach. There are many opportunities of practice in large towns; and

foreigners give all facilities, by their readiness to converse, their

good-nature in listening, and in helping the beginner by kind hints. If

a young lady, with simplicity, good breeding, and good taste, endeavors

to speak whenever she has an opportunity, words will come as if by

intuition. Do not think of by-standers and lookers-on; think only of the

individual to whom you are addressing yourself. If possible, be not

abashed by one or two errors at the first plunge--swim on till you have

confidence. The effort, I grant, is great, and it may be obviated by a

foreign education; but where this is impossible, the freedom acquired

will more than repay the exertion.

In foreign literature, walk carefully, and if you have an older, wiser

head than your own to point out the best paths, improve the advantage.

One cannot help deeming it a great era in education that German is

cultivated as well as Italian and French, and that stores of literature

are opened, to vary the delights of intellect, and to give freshness and

interest to the studies of youth.

The rapture with which the works of Schiller are perused in the

original, seems to repay the hours devoted to German; and I am sure the

perusal of Tasso, or of the Aristodemo of Monti, would reward the study

of Italian, were not the acquisition of that exquisite language of

itself a source of poetic pleasure.

The modern French writers have increased an everlasting responsibility

in corrupting the sources of amusement, open to the young readers, and

it is remarkable that most of the distinguished French authors seem to

have felt that they had erred, and to have retrieved in some of their

works the tendencies of their other productions. Take for instance,

Madame de Stael; her books cannot be judged altogether; the effect of

some of her eloquent and almost incomparable writings varies in an

extraordinary degree. Whilst "Delphine" is unfit for the perusal of a

modest woman, her "L'Allemagne" is finely written throughout, and her

criticisms and analyses of German writers are full of instruction as

well as interest.

Still the works open to readers of French are numerous. The tragedies of

Corneille and Racine are forcible and finished, and should be read

because classical. The "Alzire" of Voltaire and his "Zaire" with the

dramas of Casimir de la Vigne are also worthy of perusal. It is not an

inspiriting kind of reading, but it is rich in sentiment, and perfectly

unexceptionable in moral tone.

Although the scepticism of most German writers renders this literature

dangerous to a young mind, there are fields of pure, noble writing open

in that language. The works of Schiller, for example. His mind was

originally noble, his heart good, his love to mankind, and his enquiry

after truth were sincere. In early life, he wavered; and the besetting

scepticism of the Germans dimmed, for a time, his perceptions of all

that is most sublime, as well as true, in our finite knowledge. He was

chastened--he suffered--he believed. He died an early but a bright

instance that great genius may exist with true and humble piety, and

that the mind is never so powerful as when illumined by divine light.

His works are a magnificent library in themselves--and I could almost

say, be contented to learn German and to read Schiller. Some of his

works are open to objection, his "Bride of Messina," portions of "The

Robbers," are better omitted from your collection, but "Wallenstein" and

"Maria Stuart" are noble and admirable productions. On this subject,

and, indeed, on the whole of German literature, Madame de Stael is an

excellent guide in her "L'Allemagne," to which I refer the young German

student, who is sincerely desirous of gleaning the good, and avoiding

the evil in German compositions.

Italian literature furnishes a delightful theme for comment. It is

singular that an enslaved, and, during many ages, a depraved and

degraded people, should have possessed the purest poetry, the least

exceptionable drama, in Europe. There is little to exclude, and much to

recommend, in this beautiful language. The works of Tasso abound with

high sentiment; the "Inferno" of Dante is a sublime picture of eternal

retribution, softened with most touching pictures of human woe. Happy

are those who have leisure to pursue extensively the acquisition of

Italian literature, they may read and commit to memory without fear of

an insidious meaning beneath the polished verse, or the prose which has

all the charm of poetry.

Spanish literature will require the same judicious pruning which is

necessary in French and German, but of all languages, it is the most

musical for speech, and singing.

A lady in society must, if she would not grow utterly weary in company,

know how to dance. It has been the practice among many excellent people

to represent the ball room as a "pitfall covered with flowers;" a sheet

of breaking ice; above, all gayety and motion; below, all darkness and

danger. It may be that to some minds the ball room may be replete with

temptations; but there are minds which find temptations everywhere. The

innocent may be innocent, nay, the pious may feel devout, even in a ball

room. There is nothing immoral or wrong in dancing; it is the tendency

of youth to dance--it is the first effort of a child--the first natural

recreation. It seems so natural that I confess I am always doubtful of

the sincerity of those young ladies who profess to dislike the ball

room.

In the present day, you must understand how to move gracefully through

quadrilles, to dance polka, Schottische, Varsovienne, and waltz. To

these you may add great variety of dances, each season, probably,

bringing a new one.

"Dancing," says Mr. Sheldrake, "is one of the most healthy, as well as

one of the most pleasing amusements that can be practised by the young.

If it is learned from those who are well qualified to teach it, and

practised, as it ought to be, consistently with the instructions given,

it will contribute more to improve the health, as well as the form of

the human frame, than any other exercise. For the discovery and

promulgation of the true and correct principles according to which

dancing should be taught, the world is indebted to France, a country

which has long taken the lead in the elegant arts. In France, dancing

was first raised to the dignity of a science, a royal academy being

founded for the purpose of teaching and perfecting it, in the reign of

Louis Quatorze. In this academy were trained many of the most

distinguished dancers of both sexes." One of the most celebrated, Madame

Simonet, gave the following account to Mr. Sheldrake of the mode of

instruction pursued in the academy:--"All the pupils, before they were

permitted to attempt to dance, were completely instructed in what were

called the _preparatory exercises_; that is, a system of exercises,

which endued all their limbs with strength, firmness, elasticity, and

activity; when they had acquired these properties, they began to dance.

"In these preparatory exercises, the motions were of the most simple

kind, the object being to teach the pupil, gradually and separately, all

those movements which, when combined, and rapidly executed, constitute

dancing." Madame Simonet thus described those elementary instructions,

as gone through by herself:--"She successively learned to stand flat

and firm upon both her feet, with her limbs quite straight, and the

whole person perfectly upright, but not stiff; then to lift one foot

from the ground, and to keep it so for some time without moving any part

of her body; she then replaced that foot on the ground, and raised the

other in the same manner. These simple actions were repeated till the

pupils were quite familiar with them; they were then directed to keep

the body quite erect, but not stiff, and bearing firmly upon one leg, to

raise the other from the ground, gradually and slowly, by bending the

upper joint of the limb, at the same time making the knee straight, and

putting the toe to its proper extent, but _no more_. The foot, after it

had been kept in this state for some time, was returned to the ground

from whence it was taken, and the other foot treated in the same manner;

when quite familiarized to these actions, they were directed to walk

(march, as some people will call it) slowly, performing the same motions

with the feet alternately." The exercises which followed these, were

upon the turning out of the feet, the balancing of the body, and other

attitudes, which need not be particularized.

Mr. Sheldrake gives several examples of persons trained upon these

initiatory principles to the profession of dancing, who have lived in

health to a great age. "This," says he, "is not the chance lot of a few;

for I have, through life, been accustomed to see many persons of the

same profession; I have communicated my own observations to many others,

and all have agreed in remarking, that those who follow this profession

have, very generally, excellent health, which very many of them carry

into extreme old age. This indisputable fact can only be accounted for

by supposing that the preparatory exercises which these persons go

through, are a modification of what I have called regulated muscular

tension, or action, and the early and constant practice of which lays a

firm foundation for that high health which accompanies them through

life. It is upon the same principle that a soldier is never seen with

spinal curvature, or other personal deformity, or a stage dancer of

either sex with a deformed person; it is, perhaps, impossible that such

things should exist, for the plain reason, that the exercises which they

begin to practice early in life, and continue regularly through its

whole course, render it impossible for them to become so.

"The inference to be drawn from these incontrovertible facts is, that if

we, in very early life, teach young children to practice similar

exercises, and follow them steadily afterwards, we shall confirm them in

excellent health, and prevent the accession of those evils which so

often cause deformity to the figure, and destruction to the

constitution, at later periods of life. I do not propose to make every

boy a soldier, or every girl a dancer upon the stage, but to adopt the

principles, by the application of which those persons are trained to the

successful practices of their several occupations, and so to modify

them, that they may qualify other classes of society to follow _their_

different pursuits with equal success; and I am not without hopes that

this undertaking will contribute something towards producing this

desirable effect."

Dancing is an exercise which has been practiced by mankind from the

most remote ages. With the Egyptians, Assyrians, and Persians, the

founders of the three great empires of the ancient world, dancing was

the favorite exercise or accomplishment, and the practice was not less

prevalent among their successors in power and importance, the Greeks and

Romans. The Jews, also, we learn from Scripture, were strongly attached

to the exercise at all periods of their history.

At the present day, almost every people that exist, whether barbarous or

civilized, has its own form of dancing. It is this universality of the

exercise that makes dancing a subject of importance. Being so

extensively practiced, it must be the instrument either of good or evil

to the human race.

It is one of the most healthful and elegant amusements, and cannot be

too highly recommended. Among a rude and dissolute people it may

degenerate into something worthy of condemnation; but all the blessings

we have are similarly liable to abuse, and it would be most unjust to

condemn a cheerful domestic amusement, merely because it has, at times,

been degraded by people of low, vulgar, immoral tastes. By all

physicians, dancing, when pursued in moderation, is recommended as

highly conducive to bodily health; and it may be truly said, that,

allied with music, nothing is more conducive to _mental_ health, more

calculated to drive away melancholy, and put the whole temper into good

humor.

Dancing is the poetry of motion. It must be performed with ease and

grace, and always with a perfect regard for propriety of movement.

As an art it is taught by professed masters; and one of the leading

rules given to the learner is to raise and lower herself gracefully on

the elastic part of her feet, and to keep perfect time to the music.

Dancing is really a simple and elegant gliding on the toes, which bend

more or less to accommodate the steps, and prevent harsh, ungraceful

motion.

The most popular dances of the present day, are, first, the quadrille.

These are of French origin, comparatively tranquil in their character,

and generally danced once or more in every party. They are danced by

four couples, one standing on each side of a square. There are many sets

of quadrilles, the figures in each varying from the others. But there

are five figures in each set. The plain, fancy, Lancers, Polka,

Mazourka, and German, are among the most popular.

In plain quadrilles, a lady takes no steps, merely walking gracefully

through the figures, but her feet must keep perfect time to the music,

and she must know the changes of position perfectly.

A quadrille may be very properly described as a conversation dance, as

there are long pauses between the figures, when the dancers must have a

fund of small talk ready for their partners.

When moving in the figures, hold out your skirt a little with the right

hand, merely to clear the ground, and prevent the possibility of

treading upon it.

Next come the round dances, the _Valse_, Polka, Schottische,

Varsovienne, and Redowa.

The Waltz is danced both _a troistemps_ and _deuxtemps_. In the waltz,

the position is a most important point. You may so lean upon your

partner's arm, and so carry your figure, that the prudish can find but

little fault, but you can also make the dance a most immodest one. I

cannot, within the limits of my book, go into a long argument as to the

propriety of these round dances. Opinions differ, and I am not writing a

sermon, but giving, as far as is in my power, hints to ladies in

society. It is, therefore, enough for me to know that these dances are

tolerated, and that, even were I so inclined, _I_ could not exclude

them.

To return to the position. Stand a little to the right of your partner,

that, in clasping your waist, he may draw you upon his arm to his

shoulder, not his breast; the last position is awkward. By observing the

first, you have your head free; turn it a little towards the left

shoulder; need I say, never lay it upon your partner's shoulder? Throw

the head and shoulders a little back, not too much to be consistent with

easy grace, place one hand upon your partner's shoulder, and the other

in his disengaged hand. So, you are ready to start.

The waltz may be danced to very fast time, or to slow music. The last is

the most graceful, and there is not so much danger of giddiness. Grace

can only be gained by a perfect timing of the steps to the music, and

also evenness of step. It is, when properly timed with perfect step, and

easy, gliding motion, the most graceful of dances. The Germans, who

dance for the sake of _dancing_, will only allow a certain number of

waltzers on the floor at one time, and these waltz in streams, all going

down one side of the room and up the other, thus rendering collisions

impossible.

An English writer, in a recent work published on etiquette, speaks of

waltzing thus:--

"It is perhaps useless to recommend flat-foot waltzing in this country,

where ladies allow themselves to be almost hugged by their partners, and

where men think it necessary to lift a lady almost off the ground, but I

am persuaded that if it were introduced, the outcry against the

impropriety of waltzing would soon cease. Nothing can be more delicate

than the way in which a German holds his partner. It is impossible to

dance on the flat foot unless the lady and gentleman are quite free of

one another. His hand, therefore, goes no further round her waist than

to the hooks and eyes of her dress, hers, no higher than to his elbow.

Thus danced, the waltz is smooth, graceful, and delicate, and we could

never in Germany complain of our daughter's languishing on a young man's

shoulder. On the other hand, nothing is more graceless and absurd, than

to see a man waltzing on the tips of his toes, lifting his partner off

the ground, or twirling round and round with her like the figures on a

street organ. The test of waltzing in time, is to be able to stamp the

time with the left foot. The waltz is of German origin, but where it is

still danced in Germany in the original manner, (as, for instance, among

the peasants of the Tyrol,) it is a very different dance. It is there

very slow and graceful; the feet are thrown out in a single long step,

which Turveydrop, I presume, would call a _jete_. After a few turns, the

partners waltz alone in the same step, the man keeping the time by

striking together his iron-shod heels, until with a shout and clapping

of hands he again clasps his partner and continues in the same slow

measure with her."

The position for the polka, redowa, and other round dances, should be

the same as that for the waltz, and for the steps, they can only be

acquired from a dancing teacher, and are impossible to describe

properly.

One of the most delightful accomplishments which a lady can possess, and

one which is unfortunately but little cultivated, is the art of reading

aloud well; reading with expression, taste, animation, and correctness;

and this art once acquired, let her also be able to recite well.

Long lectures may be given upon elocution, but the advice can be

condensed into two directions. First, be sure you pronounce, accent, and

enunciate every word correctly; then, throw your whole soul into the

words. Study your author carefully, that you may know precisely what he

means by each expression, and then try to bury your personal identity,

to become, for the time, the character you represent.

One of the most delightful ways to spend a social evening, is to devote

it to dramatic literature. Invite only guests who read well, or who are

really interested listeners, and select a play, or scenes from several

plays, and cast the parts among your guests. All jealousy must be put

aside, and to-night's Hamlet must condescend to direct Richard to

"Stand by, my lord, and let the coffin pass,"

to-morrow.

After a few meetings, the peculiar talent of each reader will be

recognized, and you can select your tragedy hero, comedy hero, queen,

chambermaid, and other members of the force, with a view to the display

of each one's best powers. Vary the entertainment by reciting monologues

and dialogues. A whole play will often be found tiresome; it is best to

select several scenes, keeping up the thread of the plot, and

introducing the best characters, and leave out what is mere interlude,

and dispense with some of the subordinate characters.

Leave one end of the room entirely vacant for the readers. You will find

it more interesting to have the readers stand, and use some little

motion; the words will flow more easily, the expressions come more

forcibly if the appropriate gesture is made. Love scenes will, of

course, require delicate handling, and embracing can be easily omitted;

neither would I recommend the action of a dueling scene, or a murder,

but merely to add gesture enough to give interest to both readers and

audience.

You will find some little difficulty from bashfulness, and the "don't

like to" people at first, but soon you will discover with delight how

many of your friends possess the talent for reading well, and never knew

it themselves.

You will do well to take a few lessons in elocution, but you need not

fear to read if you have never made the accomplishment a study. With a

correct knowledge of your own language, and a love for fine writing, you

will soon read well.

Give to every part you undertake, the full effect intended by the

writer. Do not throw all your energy, your whole soul, into a leading

part at one time, and slight a subordinate character at another. If you

have but five words to read, read them as they would be spoken were you

the character you represent for the time. To hear a splendidly written,

tragic burst of passion read in a weak, whining voice, is no worse than

to have a few simple words from a servant's lips delivered with the

gesture and emphasis suited to a Medea or Lady Macbeth.

I shall be condemned by many serious and well-judging persons, if I say

one word in favor of private theatricals; yet, as it appears to me,

there are in these diversions some advantages which are not to be found

to excuse the waltz, or the polka, or the ballet, or the hunting field.

In private theatricals there is the possibility of _some_ benefit. The

study of the finest dramatists, especially of Shakespeare, is not likely

to demoralize the mind, or to cool the enthusiasm for what is good. We

can scarcely know too well those works which have tended more to form

character than any collection of any kind whatsoever.

Shakespeare, Sheridan, Bulwer,--but I cannot go through the list of fine

dramatic writers whose works elevate the mind and taste. The plays of

Sheridan, Knowles, and Bulwer, are, in most instances, well adapted for

private representations--the most exquisite delineations of female

character may be found in the dramatic library, and high, pure, manly

thoughts, may be traced, line after line, to the same source.

Private theatricals should, however, be regulated with much judgment. I

see no reason to restrict too severely talent of this kind where it

exists, any more than to crush a dawning taste for the other fine arts.

What we have to do is to raise and direct it; never to let it occupy too

much time, nor to become the business of life; never to let it infringe

upon duties; never to allow it to lead us into an unreasonable, and,

therefore, criminal expense. Our ancestors were content to strew their

stage at the end of their halls with rushes, and to hang up the name of

the scene, instead of a scene, before each act. The best preparations,

which generally render private theatricals both laborious and expensive,

add but little to the pleasure of the beholders, whose attention is

fixed upon the actors, and who can always see far finer scenes at a

minor theatre than at any private theatricals. Were we content with

greater simplicity in our amusements, how much vain ostentation,

heart-sickening expense, self-recrimination, and trouble, might be

avoided!

As a valid objection to private theatricals, it has been urged that they

are apt to encourage a taste for the green-room of the public theatre in

young men and boys; in women the risk is less, for few women are ever

known to go on the stage except from necessity. I own this objection to

theatricals is the greatest that can be urged. It can only be answered

in mitigation that, where there exists a taste of the kind, it is better

that it should be indulged at home, instead of at the theatre, with the

modest inmates of a well-governed house, instead of with professional

actors. Like all other amusements, the abuse is probable, but the power

of restraint rests within ourselves.

Under the same head as private theatricals may come dramatized charades

and proverbs, so much in fashion at the present time. These last have

some great advantages over the standard plays; they are better suited to

a parlor; they do not provoke comparison between the young actors, and

the favorite public idols; they require but little scenery and

arrangement; they are short; and they do not require so many subordinate

characters.

Impromptu charades and proverbs are delightful, and are the occasion for

much merriment; the mistakes, the absurd contrasts between character and

costume, the scenery--a deep, hanging wood, the court of Louis Quatorze

or the deck of a man of war, being improvised at a moment's notice, only

add to the merry enjoyment.

One rule you must observe if you join in these amusements: never to

carry your gayety into romping. Merry and laughing you may be, yet never

forget you are a lady. You may personate a newly-caught Irish

chambermaid, use the broadest brogue, wear the commonest dress, throw

yourself heartily and thoroughly into the part, losing your personal

identity almost entirely, and yet you may retain that nameless charm,

which will place you in the mind of each of the audience as a lady of

refinement.

You must also be perfectly good-natured and self-sacrificing; ready to

play the smallest parts with the same interest you would throw into the

principal ones. Try to throw out all the good points in the parts taken

by the other members of the company. If you play an insignificant part,

play it well, with all the grace you can, make the most of it, but do

not try to raise it to the first place. Yield gracefully the prominent

position to those who claim it in the plot of the play, and never try

by conspicuous dress or by play, to go beyond the position set down for

you.

Another delightful accomplishment, and one which will aid you if you are

studying drawing and painting, is that of arranging _tableaux vivants_.

Mrs. Severn gives the following hints upon this subject:

"Perhaps there is no intellectual amusement in fashionable life, the

nature of which is so little understood, as the _tableau vivant_; it

being generally considered as only a vehicle for display, whereas its

real purpose is to arrange scientifically a combination of natural

objects, so as to make a good picture according to the rules of art.

"A _tableau vivant_ is literally what its name imports--a living picture

composed of living persons; and, when skilfully arranged and seen at a

proper distance, it produces all the effect of a real picture. It is

said, that the first living picture was contrived by a profligate young

German nobleman, who having, during the absence of his father, sold one

of the celebrated pictures belonging to the old castle, which was an

heir-loom, to conceal the deficiency, placed some of his companions

behind the frame, so as to imitate the missing picture, and to deceive

his father, who passed through the room without being conscious of his

loss.

"A _tableau vivant_ may be formed in two ways: it may consist of a group

of persons, who take some well-known subject in history or fiction to

illustrate, and who form a group to tell the story according to their

own taste; or, it may be a copy, as exact as circumstances will permit,

of some celebrated picture. The first plan, it may be easily imagined,

is very rarely effective; since, as we find that even the best masters

are often months, or even years, before they can arrange a group

satisfactorily on canvas, it is not probable that persons who are not

artists should succeed in making good impromptu pictures. Indeed, it has

been observed, that artists themselves, when they have to arrange a

_tableau vivant_, always prefer copying a picture to composing one.

"Copying a real picture, by placing living persons in the positions of

the figures indicated in the picture, appears, at first sight, an easy

task enough; and the effect ought to be easily attained, as there can be

no bad drawing, and no confused light and shade, to destroy the effect

of the grouping. There are, however, many difficulties to conquer, which

it requires some knowledge of art to be aware of. Painting being on a

flat surface, every means are taken to give roundness and relief to the

figures, which qualities of course are found naturally in a _tableau

vivant_. In a picture the light is made effective by a dark shadow

placed near it; diminished lights or demi-tints are introduced to

prevent the principal light appearing a spot; and these are linked

together by artful shades, which show the outline in some places, and

hide it in others. The colors must also be carefully arranged, so as to

blend or harmonize with each other. A want of attention to these minute

points will be sufficient to destroy the effect of the finest picture,

even to those who are so unacquainted with art as to be incapable of

explaining why they are dissatisfied, except by an involuntary liking or

disliking of what they see.

"The best place for putting up a _tableau vivant_ is in a door-way,

with an equal space on each side; or, at least, some space on both sides

is necessary; and if there is a room or a passage between the door

selected for the picture and the room the company is to see it from, so

much the better, as there should be a distance of at least four yards

between the first row of the spectators and the picture. It must be

remembered that, while the tableau is being shown, nearly all the lights

must be put out in the room where the company is assembled; and,

perhaps, only one single candle, properly placed, in the intervening

space between the company and the tableau, must be left slightly to

illuminate the frame. In the above-mentioned door-way a frame, somewhat

smaller than the original picture, must be suspended, three, four, or

even five feet from the floor, as may suit the height of the door; or,

if the door is not very high, the frame may be put one or two feet

behind, to gain space; but care must be taken to fill up the opening

that would, in that case, show between the door-way and the frame; also

a piece of dark cloth ought to be put from the bottom of the frame to

the ground, to give the appearance of the picture hanging on the wall.

The most important thing is, that the chairs or tables ought to be

placed behind the frame, so that the persons who are to represent the

tableau may sit or stand as nearly in the position, with regard to the

frame, as the figures appear to do in the real picture they are trying

to imitate, and at about two feet from the frame, so that the light

which is attached to the back of the frame may fall properly on the

figures. In order to accomplish this, great study and contrivance are

required, so that the shades may fall in precisely the same places as in

the original picture; and sometimes the light is put on one side,

sometimes on the other, and often on the top; and sometimes shades of

tin or paper are put between the lights and the tableaux, to assist in

throwing a shadow over any particular part. The background is one of the

most important parts, and should be made to resemble that of the picture

as nearly as possible; if it is dark, coarse cloth absorbs the light

best; but whether it is to be black, blue, or brown, must depend on the

tint of the picture; should the background be a light one, colored

calico, turned on the wrong side, is generally used. If trees or flowers

form the background, of course real branches or plants must be

introduced to imitate those in the picture. Even rocks have been

imitated; and spun glass has often successfully represented water. A

thin, black gauze, black muslin, or tarlatan veil, should be fastened to

the top of the frame, on the _outside_ of it, through which the tableau

is to be seen.

"Care ought to be taken to conceal the peculiarities of the different

materials used in the draperies, and it is even sometimes necessary to

cover the stuffs used for the purpose with a gauze of a different color,

so as to imitate the broken and transparent colors found in most good

pictures. This, carefully attended to, will give a quietness and

simplicity to the whole, which will greatly add to the illusion."

The next subject upon the list of accomplishments, should be filled by

some words upon fancy sewing. Under this head will come--Crochet,

Knitting, Tapestry work, Embroidery, Chenille work, Netting, Canvas

work, Berlin wool work, Frame work, Braiding, Bead work, etc.

Small social gatherings will be much more entertaining, the time will

pass much more quickly, and the conversation flows more freely if the

fingers are employed with some light work.

Pretty presents--nay, beautiful ones--may be made in this way, when the

fingers would otherwise be idle, and these will have an additional value

in being the work of your own hands.

From the most remote ages needlework has been, not only a source of

pecuniary advantage for poor women, but also of pleasant pastime for the

rich. It is one of the most elegant of the imitative art, and from time

immemorial it has been an amusement for otherwise idle fingers, from the

cottage to the palace.

I have not space for a long disquisition upon the uses and pleasures of

fancy work; every woman has moments when such pretty playwork will be a

valuable recreation. The taste for fancy work increases daily, and can

be made not only ornamental, but useful. A ladies' wardrobe consists of

so many, and such varied objects, that the evenings of an entire winter

may be spent in making various useful garments, which are, at the same

time, suitable for company sewing. Opera hoods, wool shawls, sleeves,

Sontags, and other ladies' articles, may be varied by embroidering

smoking caps, slippers, or handkerchiefs for gentlemen.

Embroidering on canvas, or tapestry work, opens a large field for taste

and skill in execution. Beautiful articles for presents, chair covers,

sofa cushions, slippers, may be worked in the otherwise idle moments

spent in familiar society, and the fingers will soon acquire skill and

astonishing rapidity.

The German ladies have constantly on hand a piece of netting or other

fancy work, which they carry from place to place, and take out when

conversing; and so far from entirely engrossing their thoughts, they

chat more readily and freely with their fingers thus employed.

American ladies will find the custom worth imitating. Many tedious hours

will be smoothly, pleasantly passed, with the mind free, but the fingers

pleasantly occupied.

An evening passed in sewing or knitting, with one good reader to

entertain the industrious workers, will be found very pleasant. I have

known a circle of young people meet every week to work in this way, the

reader being changed twice or three times in the course of the evening,

and these meetings have proved so pleasant, that scarcely any member

failed to plead "prior engagement" if invited out upon the evening

appointed to read and sew.

It was formerly objected by the adversaries to mental cultivation in

women, that the acquirement of book learning would make them neglect

needlework; but so far from this being the case, the present, which is

often called the age of learning, is preeminently a working age. Never

were fingers more actively engaged than those of the rising female

generation; braiding, embroidery, Berlin work, knitting, netting, and

crochet, are all in full play. A long neglected work has been recently

revived, called by the French "La Frivolite." It is very pretty evening

work, partly because it does not impede conversation, for it may be

carried on almost without looking at it, and partly because no other

work shows to so much advantage the grace and delicacy of the hands. The

most simple form of this work was anciently known under the name of

Tatting, but that only consisted of a series of loops in a straight

line, which were used for trimming linen articles, and which was not so

pretty as La Frivolite, which has varieties which are a good imitation

of point, and may be used for collars and sleeves.

I give a few specimens of pretty work for evening sewing, and refer the

reader to "The Ladies' Handbook of Embroidery," published by G. G.

Evans, for a full, complete description of every kind of fancy work,

with specimens, patterns, and clear, plain directions.

NETTED CUFFS--These cuffs are very pretty, and easy to make. They are in

plain netting, and will require white, and five shades of scarlet wool.

Set on thirty-five stitches of the white wool. Net five rows, then take

a mesh a very little larger, and widen by netting two stitches in every

stitch. Then net with the smallest mesh the two lightest shades, one row

of each, and two rows of the other three shades. Then graduate the

shades back again to white, narrowing the first row of white with the

larger mesh. Net ten rows with the smaller mesh, widen again, repeat the

shades of red, narrow again, and finish with the five rows of white.

KNITTED OPERA CAP.

MATERIALS REQUIRED--Half an ounce of white and half an ounce of shaded

Berlin wool will be sufficient.

Cast on a hundred stitches with white wool, and knit and pearl

alternately for four rows.

_Shaded wool_--Knit one row plain; next row bring forward, and take two

together to the end.

_White wool_--Knit and pearl alternately four rows.

_Shaded wool_--Knit plain six rows.

_White wool_--Knit a row, decreasing it by taking the first two stitches

together, and the last two. Pearl a row. Knit a row, decreasing it as

before. Pearl a row.

_Shaded wool_--Knit a row, decreasing at the beginning and end. Next

row, bring forward and take two together to the end.

_White wool_--Knit a row, decreasing at both ends. Pearl a row. Knit a

row, decreasing as before. Pearl a row.

FOR THE PATTERN IN THE CENTRE OF THE CAP.

SHADED WOOL--_1st row_--Slip one. Knit two plain stitches (_a._) Wool

forward. Knit one. Wool forward. Knit two together. Knit one. Knit two

together. Repeat from (_a._)

_2nd row_--Pearled.

_3rd row_--Slip one. Knit two plain stitches (_b._) Wool forward. Knit

three plain stitches. Wool forward. Slip one. Knit two together. Pass

the slipped stitch over the knitted ones. Repeat from (_b._)

_4th row_--Pearled.

_5th row_--Slip one. Knit two plain stitches, (_c._) Wool forward. Knit

two together. Knit one. Knit two together. Wool forward. Knit one.

Repeat from (_c._)

_6th row_--Pearled.

_7th row_--Slip one. Knit two plain stitches (_d._) Wool forward. Slip

one. Knit two together. Pass the slipped stitch over the knitted ones.

Wool forward. Knit three plain stitches. Repeat from (_d._)

_8th row_--Pearled. Repeat the last eight rows.

_White wool_--Knit and pearl alternately for four rows; decrease at the

beginning and ending of the two plain rows.

_Shaded wool_--Knit one plain row; decrease at the beginning and ending.

Next row; bring the wool forward, knit two together to the end of the

row.

_White wool_--Knit and pearl alternately for four rows; decrease at the

beginning and ending of the two plain rows.

Knit eighteen plain stitches, run a piece of cotton through the

remaining sixty-two stitches. Pearl and knit alternately, decreasing at

the beginning and ending of every plain row, until you have four

stitches remaining; cast them off; then take up eighteen stitches on the

opposite sides, and work a piece to correspond; leaving forty-four

centre stitches on the cotton.

Take up the centre stitches on a needle pointed at both ends, draw the

cotton out; then pick up fourteen stitches at each end of the needle.

_Shaded wool_--Knit two plain rows.

_White wool_--Knit one plain row. Next row; wool forward, knit two

together to the end of the row.

_Shaded wool_--Knit two plain rows and cast off. Join the two points

together at the back of the cap. Fold the front at the first pattern

row, and hem it to form the scallop at the edge. Pick up eighty stitches

at the back of the cap.

AN ECONOMICAL POINT COLLAR.

It is well known that worked muslin collars, particularly if the work is

good, very soon wear out; as the work is too heavy for the muslin,

which, when it has been washed two or three times, becomes full of slits

and holes, though the work is still as good as ever. When this is the

case, cut the muslin off the work with a pair of sharp scissors, and lay

the work on the pattern of a collar cut in paper, so as to fill the

whole of the pattern. The work may be taken from two or three collars;

the arrangement of it must depend upon taste. When the cut-out work is

properly arranged, it must be tacked or basted to the paper pattern; and

this is best done with colored thread, that no mistake may arise when

the basting threads are to be drawn out. Four or six threads are then

drawn from one piece of work to another, with a needle and cotton, so as

to attach them together, and the loose threads are then overcast like

button-holes, so as to imitate the uniting threads of point lace. When

well done, with a sufficient quantity of the uniting threads, to make

the work firm, these collars are handsome, and will wash and wear well.

KNITTED VEILS.

It is now customary to knit white veils of what is called Lady Betty's

wool, for babies to put over their faces when they are carried out in

cold weather, instead of pocket-handkerchiefs, which were formerly used

for the purpose, though they were very unfit for it. Knitted veils in

black silk or worsted are also worn by grown-up persons. The veils for

babies are very simple in their construction; they consist of oblong

pieces of knitting of any width and depth that may be required, with

knitted lace at the bottom and sides, and a string case at the top. The

following pattern is the most common:

Knit and pearl alternately four rows, so that there may be two of each;

then bring forward and take two together an entire row. This pattern is

repeated through the entire veil; and it must be observed, that as many

stitches must be cast on as will make it of the necessary width. The

needles should be of the smallest size, of bone. Any lace will do; but

the following pattern, though not new, is both pretty and suitable; and

has, besides, the important recomendation of being very easy.

Cast on eleven stitches and knit a row plain, then begin the pattern.

_1st row_--Knit three; bring forward and take two together; knit one,

take two together; put the thread twice round the needle, take two

together, and knit one.

_2nd row_--Knit two, pearl one, knit one, put the thread twice round the

needle, take two together, bring forward, and knit five.

_3rd row_--Knit three, bring forward, take two together, knit one,

bring forward, knit two, pearl one, bring forward, take two together,

and knit two.

_4th row_--Knit two, bring forward, knit five, bring forward, take two

together, knit five.

_5th_ row--Knit three, bring forward, and take two together, knit the

rest plain.

_6th row_--Cast off four, and knit the rest plain.

HINTS TO CROCHET-WORKERS.

Examine carefully the form of the needle, and _try_ the hook, to

ascertain that it is perfectly smooth. Some are so sharp and ill-made as

to tear the cotton. Select those which are not of uniform thickness up

to the hook; the best are those which are thinner there than an inch

farther up. Where the needle is not proportionally fine near the hook,

it is almost impossible to keep the work even.

Chain stitch ought to be done rather loosely, as working on it

afterwards contracts it, and is apt to give it a puckered appearance. It

is often advisable to use a needle one size larger for making the chain

than for the rest of the work, especially in edgings. It will be found

much easier to work the succeeding rows when this precaution is taken.

Crochet needles should be kept in a housewife similar to those used for

ordinary needles. The slightest soil or rust should be effaced with fine

sandpaper.

ORNAMENTAL NET FOR THE HAIR.

Take two pieces of fine silk braid, scarlet or royal blue, and a No. 3

bone crochet hook.

Make a chain of eight stitches, unite the ends, and then D. C. the

first round, putting two stitches into each loop; there will now be

sixteen stitches and in the next round one long must be worked into

every stitch, and two chain between each long; the round will now

consist of forty-eight stitches, and we commence the pattern, or

diamonds.

_3rd round_--Three long, two chain, four long with two chain after each,

and these long put into every second loop; repeat.

_4th round_--Five long, two chain, five long with two chain after each,

and these long put into every second loop with the exception of the

fifth or last of them, which must skip two stitches instead of one;

repeat.

_5th round_--Seven long, two chain, seven long with two chain after

each, and each of these long put into every second stitch; repeat.

_6th round_--Five long, two chain, five long with two chain after each,

and each of these long put into every other stitch, three long, two

chain, five long again with two chain after each, and each put into

every second stitch; repeat from beginning.

_7th round_--Three long, two chain, five long with two chain after each

and worked in every third loop, five long, two chain, five long again

with two chain after each, and these long worked as aforesaid in every

third loop; repeat from beginning.

_8th round_--One long, two chain, five long with two chain after each

and these long put into every third stitch, seven long, two chain, again

five long, &c. &c.; repeat from beginning.

_9th round_--Six long with two chain after each and work in every third

stitch, (five long, twelve long with two chain after each, these long

put in every third stitch); repeat the pattern in brackets.

_10th round_--Nine long with two chain after them, these long being

worked in every second loop, (three long, two chain, nineteen long with

two chain after them, and the long worked in every second loop); repeat

the pattern in brackets.

_11th, 12th, and 13th rounds_--A long and two chain all round, and the

long being worked alternately in every second and third loop; care being

taken to bring one into the position to complete each diamond as it is

come to.

A crochet edging, begun with braid, and the last two or three rows

worked with gold twist as nearly the size of the braid as may be, and a

cord and tassels, finish off this elegant head-dress.

The cord should be run in and out through the thirteenth round. We,

however, prefer a single-crochet band of some fifty stitches long and

six or eight wide, worked in the same material as the net, to a cord,

and this band may be finished off with a piece of gold fringe instead of

tassels at the ends, or with a scallop of edging crocheted in gold

twist.

DRESS GLOVE BANDS; FULL OR FRILLED SHAPE.

Take three pieces of fine embroidery chenille, and a No. 3 bone crochet

hook.

Make a chain of about forty stitches, or one long enough to go round

the wrist; Dc one row.

_3rd row_--Two long, one chain and miss a stitch--repeat this all along.

Then one row Dc.

_6th row_--Long crochet worked _very_ loosely, so much so as to leave

these stitches _at least_ half an inch high; two stitches to be put into

every second or third loop and one in each of the others all the way

along; fasten off.

Join the chenille now on to the first row, and work a similar row or

frill to the one just directed, so that there be one on each side.

Run a narrow velvet through the holes of the third row and affix wider

velvet ends, or chenille tassels to each extremity. Finish off with a

button and loop, and flute the frill on each side over the finger to

make it set.

We need scarcely say that the chenille used should be selected to match

or agree with the evening dress, and that the velvet must match the

chenille.

These bands may be made to look very handsome by working a row of Dc

loosely and evenly along the edge of each frill with gold or silver

twist, and running a band of gold or silver braid or trimming through

the holes in the third row instead of velvet. Then small bullion tassels

to match the twist will form a suitable and elegant finish.

These bands may be worked round and slid over the hand like muffatees,

or made open as we have directed and buttoned, like the glove. The

buttons should be covered with crochet, and the loops crocheted.

KNITTED UNDER HABIT SHIRT.

Three ounces of Three thread White Fleecy Wool. Pair of No. 10 Bone

Knitting Pins. Cast on forty-five stitches.

Knit three rows.

_4th row_--Knit ten; X make two and knit two together; knit one; X knit

the last six stitches.

_5th row_--Knit, dropping the second of each of the two made stitches

all along.

Knit eight rows.

_14th row_--Knit ten; X make one and knit two together X repeat until

six remain; knit three; make one; knit three.

_15th row_--Knit six; X make one and knit two together X repeat until

ten remain, which knit.

Repeat these two rows three times more each, only not enlarging one (as

in the end of row fourteen), _every_ time, but only once in four rows,

merely knitting the six in the intervening rows.

_22nd row_--Knit. Knit the next seven rows.

_30th row_--Same as _14th_.

_31st_ row--Same as _15th_.

Keep on alternately knitting eight open, and then eight knitted rows,

and enlarging one stitch at the end in every fourth row until there are

a hundred and twenty-four rows.

Then decrease one stitch at the beginning or front in every other row

for thirty-two rows, still continuing the pattern as before, and still

enlarging one stitch in every fourth row, at the end or back. This

shapes one side of the neck.

Now knit forty-eight rows without increase or decrease at either end,

continuing the pattern or alternation of eight open and eight plain

knitted rows. This forms the back of the neck and the bottom of the back

of the habit-shirt.

In the next thirty-two rows we diminish one in every fourth row, by

knitting two together at the back, while at the same time in every

fourth row, at the back, we knit two together, and make one in order to

form a series of holes, or pattern parallel to that on the other side

caused by enlarging in every fourth row. We also cast on one, at the

opposite end, in every other row, to shape the second side of the neck.

We then knit one hundred and twelve rows, having each ten knitted

stitches in the front of the habit-shirt, as on the opposite side, and

six at the back, and decreasing one in every fourth row, at the back,

and continuing the pattern, and also the series of holes at the back.

Knit eight rows.

Knit ten stitches, X make two and knit two together; X knit six at end.

Knit all, dropping the second of each of the two made stitches. Knit two

rows; cast off.

Now, with same needles, pick up the stitches all along the right front

of the habit-shirt; knit two rows and cast off. Do the same on the left

front. Then pick up those of the neck, and do the same, shaping it, if

necessary, by knitting two together occasionally. These finishing-off

rows look pretty done in pale pink or blue wool. Button-holes may be

made thus:--in the front or where the ten stitches are, and about once

in thirty rows, knit three; cast off four; knit three instead of

knitting the ten as usual. Next row, when we get back to the ten

stitches, knit three; cast on four; knit three.

INFANT'S KNITTED SOCKS.

Half an ounce of White Lamb's Wool. Three No. 13 Knitting Needles. Cast

on Thirty stitches.

_1st row_--Knit.

_2nd row_--Knit two; make or enlarge one stitch by picking up one from

the previous row and knitting it; knit all the rest.

_3rd row_--Knit. Repeat second and third rows alternately four times

more each of them.

_12th row_--Knit two; make a stitch according to directions above given;

knit rest until four remain; knit two together; knit two.

_13th row_--Knit. Repeat these two rows alternately three times more

each.

_20th row_--Knit two; enlarge one as before directed; knit rest until

two remain; enlarge one; knit two.

_21st row_--Knit. Repeat these two rows alternately three more times

each.

_28th row_--Knit.

_29th row_--Knit fourteen stitches, and leave the other upon the needle.

Take up the third needle and knit twenty rows more, of fourteen stitches

each.

_49th row_--Knit two together; knit twelve; on same needle, and with

same wool, cast on twenty-seven stitches.

_50th row_--Knit.

_51st row_--Knit two; knit two together; knit rest until four remain;

knit two together; knit two.

_52nd row_--Knit. Repeat these two rows alternately twice more each.

_57th row_--Knit two; make one in manner directed; knit rest until four

remain; knit two together; knit two.

_58th row_--Knit. Repeat these two rows alternately three times more

each.

_65th row_--Knit all until four remain; knit two together; knit two.

_66th row_--Knit. Repeat these two rows alternately four more times

each.

_75th row_--Knit.

_76th row_--Cast off.

This completes the slipper portion of the sock. We now begin the

instep-piece. Take the wool and knit off ten stitches from the needle on

which the twenty-seven stitches were left; knit these ten from the

toe-end, or that where the twenty rows of fourteen stitches each has

been made; leave the remaining seventeen stitches still on the same

needle. Knit twenty rows of ten stitches, and in every other one pick up

the edge-stitch of the toe-piece and knit it with the tenth stitch, so

as to unite these two portions, viz: the toe and the instep. With each

stitch of the twentieth row, an edge-stitch of the side at the toe-end

of the slipper must be picked up, knitted and cast off, and a neat and

entire union of the toe of the slipper and the instep piece formed.

This instep piece is to be ribbed in rows of four, viz: four rows in

which the plain side is uppermost, and four rows in which the pearled

side is uppermost.

We now commence the leg portion of the sock.

With the needle which has been left in the first side of the slipper

carefully pick up the edge-stitches all along the instep-piece and side

of the slipper; when this is done, there should be about fifty on the

needle. Take the wool and knit all along, including the picked up

stitches, and the seventeen originally on the needle. Knit two rows.

_4th row_--Knit two; X make two (not by picking up, but in the ordinary

way, by passing the wool twice over the needle), and knit two together;

knit one; X repeat.

_5th row_--Knit all; casting off one of each of the double made

stitches. Now knit twenty rows ribbed like the instep-piece.

_26th row_--X Knit one; make one and knit two together; X repeat all

round.

_27th row_--Knit.

_28th row_--Knit two; X make one and knit two together; knit one; X

repeat.

_29th, 30th, and 31st rows_--Knit.

_32nd row_--Cast off.

Take a wool needle, thread it with wool, and sew up the sock neatly,

stitch for stitch, from the top of the leg to the point of the sole;

then sew the toe; turn it; put on a little rosette of raveled wool; run

a ribbon in and out through the holes at rows 4 and 5, of the leg

portion, and it is completed.

As this is intended for an Infant's Sock, we have ordered white wool,

that being most useful; should it, however, be wished to knit socks for

an older baby, the slipper may be made of Cerise, Scarlet, Pale Blue,

Green, or Straw-colored wool; and the 26th, 27th, and 28th rows, of the

leg portion, and the casting-off done in the color of the slipper; while

the instep-piece and the rest of the sock are made in white wool.

The sock may also be enlarged by casting on extra stitches in the

beginning, and adding a couple of rows to each of the divisions of the

slipper part, and enough to the toe to preserve its form and symmetry.

Almost any of the open anti-maccassar patterns may be used for knitting

the sock and instep-piece, if a light lace-like appearance is desired.

The well-known rose-leaf pattern looks particularly pretty.