Well, continues our veteran romancer, I made my way to my coach. At

the moment a gentleman was claiming possession. I remonstrated. He

represented that a young lady, his sister, had been promised attendance

at a ball in the neighborhood. He desired the coach for her conveyance.

None other was to be had. It was her first ball.

In short, says he, I was constrained to allow him the carriage,

bargaining only that I should be set down at the Embassador's of ----.

The face of the young man struck me familiarly. I had seen him before.

We compared notes. I had met him in Italy, and again in Algiers. He

was involved in the affair of May, 1848. He was an earnest worthy

young fellow of fortune. He was in high favor at the Revolution of

1848, and by singular good luck, saved his property from the great

commercial wreck of that period. Afterward he lost ground was subject

to constant espionage--was driven from the country, and on his return

was imprisoned.

He had no relatives in the world, save only this younger sister. One

day, as he mused despondingly in his casemate, he was told that a

lady desired to speak with him. It was his sister. She had learned of

his imprisonment, and desired to share his solitude. Her request was

granted.

After some months he was offered freedom, provided he should quit

France with his sister forever. He accepted the conditions, and

emaciated, impoverished, despairing, he repaired to Brussels. A few

friends contributed to his support. His sister, a most estimable young

girl, had won her way, by her attractions, no less than by her many

virtues.

It was at this epoch I met him; he confided his griefs to me. I gave

him what encouragement I could.

A week after I met him again; his face was glowing with satisfaction.

He put in my hands a letter from a distinguished gentleman of the

country, of large fortune and of high character. It ran thus:

"Sir--I have seen and love your sister, and have the honor to

ask your assent to my continued and serious attentions, Yours,

&c.

"And your sister?" said I.

"Is as happy as I."

Fortune comes in a flood, continues Dumas, for the next day my young

friend found an advantageous place, with fifteen thousand francs a year.

The story shows how French fortunes are the matter of the hour; it

shows how marriage is a thing of French anxiety, and of commercial

importance; it shows how fate plays pranks with French mortality, and

it shows how Dumas can twist a story out of trifles, and weave a tender

romance from a quarrel at a cab-stand!

And here we bid Dumas, and French trifles, and Ohio scenery, and the

bursting season of new-come summer, our monthly adieu!

AN OLD GENTLEMAN'S LETTER.

"THE BRIDE OF LANDECK."

Indeed, my dear sir, I can not write any thing worth reading. You

are very kind--very flattering, when you would persuade me that, at

the end of a long life, I can amuse the public, through the pages of

your New Monthly Magazine, preoccupied as the great literary stage is

with writers of reputation. If I attempt a tale, there are Bulwer,

and James, and Dickens, and Hawthorne. If I write a History, there is

Macaulay; if an essay, there is Legion. However, I will do my best, and

tell you the story of "The Bride of Landeck," that you may make the

experiment. Only remember it is none of my seeking. I am like, in one

respect, the great statesman of whom my friend, Judge R----, in the

character of a cockney, wrote:

"He never sought for no prefarment,

Instead of that,

He turned a rat,

To prove that he died varmint."

The great difficulty with an inexperienced person is where to

begin--whether, with Horace, in the middle--with Count Antoine

Hamilton, at the beginning--or, with the late Lord Stowell, at the end?

The latter gentleman, by the way, was one of the most extraordinary

men I ever met with--full of something more than talent--of genius of

the highest order, and, to my mind, far superior in intellect to his

more celebrated brother, the Earl of Eldon. His judgments are more

elaborately beautiful and eloquent than any that I know, and when

interested in a subject, his language was rich, flowing, and easy,

beyond that of any man I ever heard speak. Yet I remember his telling

me once, that he would rather deliver a judgment, which occupied three

whole days--such as that in the Iron Coffin case--than speak five

sentences to return thanks for his health being drank after dinner.

I will go on with my tale in a moment; but one point in Sir William

Scott's (Lord Stowell's) character is interesting. With all his vast

erudition and powers of intellect, he was in some respects as simple

as a child, and had an uncontrollable passion for curious sights. I

remember quite well, when I was in London, more than thirty years ago,

walking down the Strand, and seeing the carriage of Lord Stowell, then

Sir William Scott, dashing rapidly up toward Charing Cross. I bowed

to him, and, on perceiving me, he stretched out his hand, and pulled

what is called the check-string, vehemently, as an indication for his

coachman to stop. The man pulled up, and he beckoned to me eagerly, as

if he had something of the utmost importance to communicate. I went up

at once to the window, when to my surprise and disappointment, I must

acknowledge, he inquired, "Have you seen the Bonassus?"--"No!"--"See

him--see him! He is right in your way by Exeter Change. A very curious

fellow, a very curious fellow indeed!"

Some years afterward, it so happened, his papers were placed in my

hands for examination. In the top of each of the multitudinous tin

cases which contained them, was written an injunction in his own hand,

to take no copies of any of the documents within. I do not, however,

think it any violation of his injunction, to show how far back this

passion for any thing that is curious or extraordinary could be traced.

Among other papers was the memorandum-book of his expenses, when

studying at Oxford, and two of the items were curious. One was, "Paid

one shilling to see Mr. ---- conjure" (I forget the man's name). Then

followed the observation, "Very marvelous indeed!" Some way down on the

succeeding page was written, "Paid one guinea to Mr. ---- for teaching

me to conjure."

He conjured, indeed, to some purpose; for he left a very large fortune;

and that brings to my mind an anecdote regarding his brother John,

which may have been told over and over again, for aught I know; but I

myself had it from a near relation of both brothers. While John Scott,

Lord Eldon, was Chancellor, his brother, Lord Stowell, proposed to

purchase an estate with some one or two hundred thousand pounds which

he had saved. Some delay occurred in perfecting the title, and Lord

Stowell, uneasy at having so large a sum in the house, was hurrying to

deposit it with a banker of good reputation, when he was met in the

street by his brother, who asked him to come into his chambers and

breakfast with him. The great civilian declined, telling his errand,

and alleging the importance of disencumbering his person of the large

amount he carried about him. The Chancellor persisted, and almost

dragged his brother into his chambers by main force. He then argued

with the other most vehemently upon the imprudence of trusting his

whole fortune to any private banking-house, urging him to lodge the sum

in the Bank of England. Lord Stowell was obstinate, and the dispute

lasted till ten o'clock, when some papers were brought in for the

Chancellor's signature. He took a pen and wrote his name, and then, for

the first time, informed his brother that the house with whom he had

been about to trust his money was bankrupt. He had that moment signed

the fiat.

I must not quit the subject of the memorandum-book, however, without

mentioning that it contained many a proof of kindness of heart and

generosity of character, which showed that Lord Stowell possessed

other, and perhaps higher qualities than those which recommended him to

high station, or led him to wealth.

Among many interesting papers which those tin cases contained, were

various records of his life at the University of Oxford; and one

packet I especially noticed, containing his lectures, famous at the

time, but never printed, upon the civil polity of the Athenians. His

situation in life when he matriculated at the University, was not very

brilliant, and the early history both of himself and his brother was

rendered the more obscure by a curious mistake. His name, I was told

by his daughter, appears upon the books of the College, as the son of

a fiddler, which he certainly was not. She explained the error thus:

When he arrived at Oxford, William Scott spoke with a somewhat strong

Northumbrian accent, and after having given his own name, and that of

his father, was asked what his father's occupation was, to which he

replied, "Oh, just a Fitter." The recording angel of the University

had no conception of what a Fitter was; and between his own want of

knowledge, and the young man's indistinctness of speech, wrote the

word "Fiddler" after the father's name. Now, a Fitter, in Northumbrian

parlance, means a sort of intermediate merchant, or middle-man, between

the owner of a coal mine and the shipper of the coals.

It is well known that Sir William Scott was for many years greatly

neglected by government, and his abilities even underrated by men very

much inferior to himself. The cause of this was probably his reluctance

to mingle much in political affairs, and the absence of political

position. A well known pun of the celebrated Jekyll, having reference

to Lord Stowell, loses half its point as it is usually told. The real

circumstances were these. On the very day that saw Sir William Scott

created Lord Stowell, after long years of arduous services, he was

invited to dine with a lady who had a house in Hamilton Place, London,

and a house also at Richmond. When the note of invitation was written,

the family were at Richmond, and Sir William did not remark, or did not

remember, amidst the hurry of events and of honors conferred upon him,

that the place appointed for the dinner, was London. He was usually

exceedingly punctual, often before his time; and he drove down to

Richmond so as to arrive there a few minutes before the dinner hour. To

his surprise, he found the family had removed to Hamilton Place, but

good-humoredly observing, "I dare say, I shall be in time, after all,"

he drove back with all speed to London. The whole party had waited for

him, and some jesting observations had passed in regard to his giving

himself airs upon his new title, though nobody really believed such a

thing for a moment.

"Say something smart to him, Mr. Jekyll," said the lady of the

house, as soon as the doors were thrown open to give Lord Stowell

admission; and Jekyll instantly advancing, took his friend by the hand,

exclaiming, "I am glad to see the late

Sir William Scott {appear} at last."

{a peer}

I have been told, but upon no very good authority, that Lord Stowell

used to account for the difference between his own rapid and

unhesitating decision of cases brought before him, and his brother's

slow and doubtful habits, by saying, "I try to see every side of a

question at once; John likes to look at them all in turn--and then to

begin again."

Even after his death, some men, themselves of considerable abilities,

were inclined, without denying his merit, to place him, I think

mistakenly, far below his brother. I remember once at the house of the

late Sir Robert Peel, conversing with that gentleman on the characters

of the two brothers, as we stood before their pictures. He differed

greatly in his views from myself, and expressed his opinion of the

superiority of Lord Eldon in a very decisive, perhaps, I might say,

somewhat dogmatical manner. My own views, however, were afterward

approved and confirmed by a greater man than any of the three. I had

the good fortune, however, to agree with Sir Robert upon the merits

of pictures better than upon the merits of men. After looking at the

pictures of Eldon and Stowell, we turned to the full length portrait

of Canning, by Sir Thomas Lawrence, and he asked me what I thought of

it--mark, of the picture, not of the statesman. It represents Canning

with the right arm raised, declaiming violently.

"I do not like it," I said.

"Nor I either," replied Peel.

"He looks like an actor," I added.

I shall never forget the tone in which he answered. "And so he does."

There was a cutting bitterness in it which seemed to imply more than he

thought fit to utter.

I have remarked through life that all men of cold and unimpassioned

natures, imagine that those who show any touch of enthusiasm, are

acting; yet every man has enthusiasm of some kind, and though but very

slightly acquainted with Sir Robert Peel, one of the least impassioned

men that ever lived, I have remarked him display, when speaking on

subjects of art, a spark of that light divine, which, to be really

serviceable to man, should be merely as a lamp in the hand of Reason.

I am truly ashamed to find how far I have wandered from the point.

I intended to write of quite different matters, and have been led

into a number of collateral anecdotes by merely having mentioned Lord

Stowell's name, in order to show the difficulty of choosing among

the different ways, of beginning either to write, or read a story. I

believe I did not even finish my illustration; so let me say, before

I proceed farther, that the noble Judge, I have alluded to, was

accustomed always to begin a romance at the end; justifying it on legal

grounds. He seemed to consider an author as an offender; and said that,

as it was absolutely necessary act should be committed, before a man

could be tried for it, the only way of arriving at truth, was, to begin

at the catastrophe, and trace it back to its causes. There was a quiet,

pleasant smile upon his face when he assigned this motive for his way

of reading a book of interest, which indicated a good-humored jest at

himself and at the public. But there can be no doubt that he always

liked to begin a romance at the latter end. I find myself now at the

close of my sheet, and therefore must put off to another occasion, the

extraordinary story I set out to tell you, of "The Bride of Landeck."

I dare say, I can finish it in one letter, if my mind can ever be

brought to pursue one straightforward course, without being called off

into collateral paths. But the proverbial garrulity of old age would

not be half so bad without its discursiveness. The child hunts every

butterfly, and turns aside to catch every wild flower; the second child

pursues the butterflies, and culls the weeds of the mind. I recollect

being in company for an hour with Coleridge, a few years before his

death, and in that short period, he discoursed upon seven-and-thirty

different subjects. But, on my life, I am beginning to tell you another

anecdote; and yet I have only space to say,

I am yours truly,

P.

P.S. I will send you the story of "The Bride of Landeck," in my

next. It will not occupy more than ten lines; but it is wonderfully

interesting. I remember once--. But I can not begin another sheet, so

good-by.

Editor's Drawer.

Some years ago an English wag thus quizzed the style of Legal

Examinations. The questions, it must be understood, open with "leading"

or "introductory" queries, and then go on to "bankruptcy."

_Question._--"Have you attended any, and, if any, what Law Lectures?"

_Answer._--"I have attended to many legal lectures, where I have been

admonished by police-magistrates for kicking up rows in the streets,

pulling off handles of door-bells, knockers, &c."

COMMON LAW.

_Question._--"What is a real action?"

_Answer._--"An action brought in earnest, and not by way of a joke."

_Question._--"What are original writs?"

_Answer._--"Pot-hooks, hangers, and trammels."

EQUITY AND CONVEYANCING.

_Question._--"What are a Bill and Answer?"

_Answer._--"Ask my tailor."

_Question._--"How would you file a Bill?"

_Answer._--"I don't know; but I would lay a case before a blacksmith."

_Question._--"What steps would you take to dissolve an injunction?"

_Answer._--"I should put it into some very hot water, and let it remain

there until it had melted."

_Question._--"What are post-nuptial articles?"

_Answer._--"Children."

CRIMINAL LAW AND BANKRUPTCY.

_Question._--"What is Simple Larceny?"

_Answer._--"Picking a pocket of a handkerchief, and leaving a purse of

money behind."

_Question._--"What is Grand Larceny?"

_Answer._--"The Income Tax."

_Question._--"How would you proceed to make a man a bankrupt?"

_Answer._--"Induce him to take one of the theatres."

_Question._--"How is the property of a bankrupt disposed of?"

_Answer._--"The solicitors and other legal functionaries divide it

among themselves!"

There is not only a good deal of humor, but some salutary satire in

this burlesque examination. Many a victim can testify, for example, to

the truth of the last answer. After all he was not so far wrong who

said, that "LAW was like a magical stream; once wet your foot in it,

and you must needs walk on, until you are overwhelmed in the endless

stormy waters."

* * * * *

The history of BEAU BRUMMELL is a fruitful one. There can hardly be

a better lesson taught of the consequences of a _useless life_, than

is taught by his brilliant yet melancholy career. His impudence was

inimitable--it was appalling. His sayings were delivered in a way that

was so deliberate, so imperturbably cool, that no person could do

justice to it. And yet people of the first class, nobles of the realm,

nay, royalty itself, "put up" with his sarcastic says, his impudent

comments, without either retort or remonstrance. Here are a couple of

specimens of his impudence, recorded by one who knew him well:

"Dining one day at a gentleman's house in Hampshire, where the

Champagne was far from being good, he waited for a pause in the

conversation, and then condemned it by raising his glass, and saying,

in a voice loud enough to be heard by every one at the table:

"'John, bring me some more of that wild cider.'

"'Brummell,' said one of his club friends, on one occasion, 'you were

not here yesterday; where did you dine?

"'Dine!' he replied; 'why, with a person of the name of R----. I

believe he wishes me to notice him; hence the dinner: but to give

the devil his due he desired that I would make up the party myself,

so I asked A----, M----, P----, and a few others, and I assure you,

the affair turned off quite uniquely. There was every delicacy in

or out of season. The Sillery was perfect; and not a wish remained

ungratified. But my dear fellow,' continued Brummell, musing, 'conceive

my astonishment, when I tell you that R---- _himself_ had the assurance

to sit down and dine with us!'"

The nonchalance, the total indifference which he could at any time

assume, is well illustrated in the following anecdote:

"An acquaintance having, in a morning call, bored him dreadfully about

some tour he had made in the north of England, inquired with great

pertinacity of his impatient listener, which of the lakes he preferred?

"Brummell, quite tired of the man's tedious raptures, turned his head

imploringly toward his valet, who was arranging something in the room,

and said,

"'Robinson!'

"'Sir."

"'Which of the lakes do I admire?'

"'Windermere, sir,' replied that distinguished individual.

"'Ah, yes--Windermere,' replied Brummell; so it is--yes; Windermere!'"

An anecdote of him which is somewhat more familiar, but which possesses

the same characteristics with the above, is one which represents him

as saying, in reply to the remark of a lady, who, observing that at a

dinner where they met, the great beau took no vegetables, asked him

whether such was his general habit, and if he _never_ ate any.

"Yes, my dear madam," he replied, "I once ate _a pea_!"

But the best thing told of Brummell, in this kind, is one which does

not appear in Captain Jesse's "Life" of him, nor, to our knowledge, has

it appeared in print. But it is undoubtedly authentic. It runs in this

wise.

Being one day seated at one of the tables of his favorite club-house,

near the fire-place, he was enjoying the perusal of the _Times_

newspaper, when a stout, burly member entered, and walking up to

the fire-place, turned his back to the grateful warmth, parted his

coat-tails, and stood before the beau in the attitude of the Colossus

of Rhodes. Presently he began to sneeze. Brummell looked up imploringly

and with a gesture indicating great annoyance, removed a little further

off.

Scarcely had he taken his new seat, before another burst of sneezing,

louder than before, startled him from his temporary repose. He was

looking reproachfully, but "more in sorrow than in anger," when a third

explosion of sternutation, "mist" from the effects of which reached to

where he sat, brought him to his feet: "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed;

"we can't stand this! Waiter, it is raining! Bring us an umbrella!"

But this man, who was the very pattern in manners and dress of his

time, who could even bully and satirize princes of the royal line

with impunity, this example of an aimless life, met with a sad fate

at last. His dissolute habits and enormous debts compelled him to

flee from England, in the night, to a small town on the French coast,

where, after being appointed, for a time, to the indifferent British

consulate, he became again involved, by reason of his expensive habits

and over-delicate tastes, and was at last confined in prison for debt.

Just before he was incarcerated, the following anecdote is related of

him:

"While promenading one day on the pier, an old associate of his, who

had just arrived by the packet from England, met him unexpectedly in

the street, and cordially shaking hands with him, said:

"'My dear Brummell, I am delighted to see you! Do you know we thought

in London that you were dead! The report, I assure you, was in very

general circulation when I left.'

"'Mere _stock-jobbing_, mere stock-jobbing!' was the beau's reply."

Stock-jobbing on such a profitless subject as a decayed, penniless

dandy! The farce of brazen impudence and assurance could no farther go.

Not long after this, Brummell became partially insane; and the great

inventor of STARCH was last seen shrieking from between his prison

bars in the asylum, complaining that the pigeon given him for his

dinner was "a skeleton;" that his mutton chops were "not larger than a

penny-piece;" that his biscuits were "like a bad half-penny;" that he

had "but six potatoes;" and that the cherries sent for his dessert were

"positively unripe."

And so he continued to the very last. He had a horror of sealing his

insane notes with a wafer; he babbled of primrose-colored gloves,

eau-de-Cologne, and oil for his wigs, and patent-blacking for his boots.

But at last he died. Some charitable Englishman tried to get him into

a private asylum, but no such institution would receive him. This good

Samaritan was obliged to pay a person to be with him night and day;

but still he, the refined, the _recherché_ Beau Brummell, the "glass

of fashion and the mould of form," the "observed of all observers,"

the companion and pet of royalty and the nobility, could not even be

kept clean. He drew his last breath upon a straw mattress, rising

occasionally from his humble pallet to welcome an imaginary prince,

or noble earl, or stately duchess, to his wretched apartment, with

no diminution of his mocking grace and studied courtesy of manner.

Dandled, dreaded, deserted, doomed, demented, dying dandy!

* * * * *

"Many men of many minds," is a proverb somewhat musty, as many a

youngster learning to write can bear witness; and for and against the

"use of the weed" it is perhaps more applicable than to any one thing

else. Many a reader of the "Drawer" will take a high-flavored Havana

between his lips, press and draw it satisfactorily, while he peruses

the following--while many a staid matron and careful housekeeper will

regard the lines with great favor; bearing in mind all the time the

smell of tobacco-smoke in the curtains, and in the clothes of their

husbands, or their husbands' friends. But whether for or against, read

THE DISGUSTED WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.

"You promised to leave off your smoking,

The day I consented to wed;

How little I thought you were joking,

How fondly believed what you said!

Then alas! how completely you sold me,

With blandishments artful and vain;

When you emptied your snuff-box, and told me

You never would fill it again!

"Those fumes so oppressive from puffing,

Say, what is the solace that flows?

And whence the enjoyment of stuffing

A parcel of dust in your nose?

By the habits you thus are pursuing,

There _can_ be no pleasure conferred,

How irrational, then, is so doing--

Now, _isn't_ it very absurd?

"Cigars come to threepence each, nearly,

And sixpence an ounce is your snuff;

Consider how much, then, you yearly

Must waste on that horrible stuff!

Why the sums in tobacco you spend, love,

The wealth in your snuff-box you sink,

Would procure me of dresses no end, love,

And keep me in gloves--only think!

"What's worse, for your person I tremble--

'Tis going as fast as it can;

Oh! how should you like to resemble

A smoky and snuffy old man?

Then resign, at the call of affection,

The habits I can not endure;

Or you'll spoil both your nose and complexion,

And ruin your teeth, I am sure!"

Whatever may be said of smoking, it must be admitted to have been the

cause of much pleasant writing; nor has it failed to be turned to

profitable instruction in verse; as witness the lines on a pipe:

"The pipe that is so lily white,

In which so many take delight,

'Tis broke by the touch,

Man's life is but such--

Think of this when you're smoking tobacco!"

How admirably was this verse sung by the poor soldier in "St. Patrick's

Eve," when he supposes he is smoking his last pipe!

* * * * *

There was an amusing account given some twenty years ago in an English

periodical, of a footman to a gentleman in a provincial town (which was

crowded with strangers on some week of rejoicing, or of some convention

or other), being sent, as a favor, to cut the hair of a friend of his

master's, who had "put up" at a neighboring inn. He had tried to shave

a person once before, on an emergency, and cut his own thumb half-off

through his cheek. His experience in hair-cutting was not much more

fortunate; but let him tell his own story:

"The first sight of my new 'patient' set my nerves dancing in all

directions. He was a large, tall, brawny, red-hot Irishman, with a head

of hair bright orange, and curly as the wool of a negro.

"'Cut my hair!' he said, in a voice like the grating of wagon-wheels;

'and, you spalpeen, be handy wid ye, for it's these twenty-four hours

that I'm after waiting for ye.'

"The stranger's hair was stiff as wire; of an inveterate tight round

curl; and bushy to absolute frightfulness from excess of luxuriant

growth. He had started from London with it rather too long; worn it

uncombed on a three months' journey through Wales; and was waiting

until he could arrive at some town where he could have it cut in the

fashion.

"'_Cut my hair!_ I say, you devil's baby!' said the rollicking,

roystering Irishman, imbibing at the same time a large draught from

a tumbler of brandy-and-water, which he was consuming while he

dressed, and recommencing, in a horrible voice, to sing 'The Lads of

Shillelagh,' a measure which my entrance had for a moment interrupted.

"I obeyed, but with a trembling hand. The very first sight of his head

had discomposed all my faculties. I plunged into the operation of

adjusting it as into a voyage over sea, without rudder or compass. I

cut a bit here and a bit there, taking off very little at a time, for

fear of losing my way; but the detestable round curl, rolling itself up

at the very moment I let go the end, defeated every hope, every chance

of regularity.

"'_Thin the rest!_' blasphemed the sufferer, 'for I'll not wait. Thin,

it, and _leave_ it.'

"This command put the finishing stroke to my perplexity.

'Thinning' was a process entirely beyond my skill; but a fresh

execration, interrupting, 'The Lads of Shillelagh,' left me no

longer any power of thought. I had seen the business of 'thinning'

performed, although I did not at all comprehend it. I knew that the

scissors were to be run through the hair from one side to another

with a sort of snip--snip--snip, all the way, so I dashed on;

snip--snip--snip--through the close, round, red curls, quite surprised

at my own dexterity, for about a minute and a half; and then, taking

up my comb, to collect the proceeds of the operation, more than

three-fourths of the man's hair came off in my hands!

"What followed I have never exactly been clear in remembering. I think

my victim must have felt the sudden chill occasioned by the departure

of the thick-set hedge that constituted his head-gear. At all events,

he put his hand to his head, and motioned as if he 'did address himself

to rise.' I made a rush for the door, muttering something about being

obliged to 'go for the heating-irons;' but as I turned round for a

parting glance 'at that misguided man,' I saw _discovery_ in his eye.

Indeed, I see him in my mind's eye even now, with a countenance more

in amazement than in anger, standing paralyzed, beside the chair upon,

which he had been sitting, and rubbing his head with the left hand, as

if doubting whether his right hand had not misinformed him; but at the

moment when the thing occurred, I thought only of escape."

That extempore friseur was never caught afterward with a pair of

"thinning-scissors" in his hand!

* * * * *

As we are nigh upon the season of immature fruits, it may not be amiss

to give, as a "solemn warning," the following touching

SONNET

ON A YOUTH WHO DIED OF EXCESSIVE FRUIT-PIE.

Currants have checked the current of my blood,

And berries brought me to be buried here;

Pears have pared off my body's hardihood,

And plums and plumbers spare not one so spare.

Fain would I feign my fall; so fair a fare

Lessens not fate, but 'tis a lesson good:

Gilt will not long hide guilt; such thin-washed ware

Wears quickly, and its rude touch soon is rued.

Grave on my grave some sentence grave and terse,

That lies not, as it lies upon my clay;

But in a gentle strain of unstrained verse,

Prays all to pity a poor patty's prey;

Rehearses I was fruit-full to my hearse,

Tells that my days are told, and soon I'm toll'd away!

It will make any "Christian" laugh to read the account which follows,

of the manner in which Eastern superstition was, on one occasion,

overcome by a stubborn, matter-of-fact clockmaker, who was employed to

repair the great clock in the tower of the Mosque at Tangier. He was

from Genoa, and a Christian. How could the faithful followers of the

Prophet manage to employ him? The clock was fixed in the wall of the

tower, and it was of course a thing impossible to allow the "Kaffer" to

defile GOD'S house of prayer by his sacrilegious steps. One proposed

to abandon the clock altogether; another suggested the laying down of

boards, over which the infidel might pass, without touching the sacred

floor; but this was not held to be a sufficient safeguard; and it was

finally decided to pull up that part of the pavement on which the

"Kaffer" trod, and whitewash the walls over which he passed.

The Christian was now sent for, and was told what was required of him;

and he was expressly commanded to take off his shoes and stockings, on

entering the mosque.

"I shan't do it!" said the stout little watch-maker; "I never take them

off when I enter the chapel of the most Holy Virgin, and I won't take

them off in the house of your Prophet!"

They cursed in their hearts the watch-maker and all his race, and

were in a state of vast perplexity. The "wise men" had met early in

the morning: it was already noon, and yet, so far from having got

over their difficulty, they were, in fact, exactly where they had

been before breakfast; when a gray-haired muezzin, or priest, who had

hitherto been silent, claimed permission to speak:

"If," said the venerable priest, "the mosque be out of repair, and

lime and bricks have to be conveyed into the interior, for the use of

the masons, do not asses carry those loads, and do they not enter with

their shoes on?"

"You speak truly," was the general reply.

"And does the donkey," resumed the muezzin, "believe in the One GOD, or

in Mohammed, the Prophet of GOD?"

"No, in truth--no," all replied.

"Then," said the muezzin, "_let the Christian go in shod, as a donkey

would do, and come out as a donkey!_"

The argument of the muezzin was unanimously applauded. In the character

of a donkey, therefore, did the Christian enter the great Mohammedan

temple!

* * * * *

That was a capital burlesque which appeared in "Punch," about the time

that Prince de Joinville bombarded Algiers, in the shape of a letter

from a French soldier to his mother in Paris. It is brim full of good

puns:

"Your kind letter, strange to say, found me alive. You ask me to

send you an account of our Model Farm. The farm is surrounded by a

stockade, and we mount not less than fifty forty-two pounders. These

are constantly double-loaded with grape of the very best vintage. Thus

our guns bear upon our fields, if nothing else does. Indeed, every

thing about us may be said to be shooting, except the crops. Still, I

do not despair. Two months ago we plowed two hundred Arabs into a field

of four acres, and now find that they are coming up very nicely in

turnips. The agricultural glory there is rotting like bone-dust.

"It is amazing to see how glory blesses us in this country. We feed

the Gallic cock upon small-shot; and, strange to say, the hens lay

nothing but bullets. Indeed, such is the violence of the Arabs, that

we are compelled to stand to our guns at milking-time and feed the

pigs with fixed bayonets. We are, however, exercising the milk-maids

in platoon-firing, and trust they are quite able to take the field

with the cows, now that the guns, which they are to carry, have been

provided us.

"We yesterday held a court-martial on the sentinel who mounted guard at

the ducks' house; a party of the enemy having scaled the wall at night,

and carried off our only brood of ducklings. The drake and duck were

found with their throats cut! Were there ever such barbarous villains

as these Arabs? The sentinel was shot at six this morning, with all the

honors. Although the villains stole our ducks, they fortunately missed

the onions: I say fortunately, for they might have found at least a

rope apiece.

"We are, however, preparing for a grand operation. We have deposited an

immense quantity of gunpowder under the dunghill. We purpose to appear

off our guard--shall suffer the enemy to scale our stockade, plant

their banners on our dunghill, and then--as they think, in the moment

of victory--blow them to atoms! Thus may true glory be obtained, like

mushrooms, even from a dunghill!

"You will, from the above, judge of the delightful employment of

cultivating beet-root and laurels in the same field.

"But I am called away. Our shepherd has returned without his nose and

ears. Our two sheep are carried off! We hasten to make a _sortie_, to

avenge the honor of outraged France! '_Vive la France!_'"

* * * * *

They are building a railroad in Egypt; and late accounts from

Alexandria tell us that nine or ten thousand workmen are actively

engaged upon it. Think of that! Crossing the desert after a locomotive!

Good-by to camels and dromedaries! Farewell to tents beneath the

spacious blue firmament overhead! A "long farewell" to Arab guides

and Arab extortions! Railroads and steamboats will yet thread through

Palestine, and paddle the sluggish waters of the Dead Sea! Now look for

trade in "pots and pearls," made from the "ash-apples" on "the Dead

Sea's shore." Sing the following, on the twenty-sixth page, "irregular

metre." Air: "Go ahead!"

Over the billows and over the brine,

Over the water to Palestine!

Am I awake, or do I dream?

Over the ocean to Syria by steam!

My say is sooth, by this right hand,

A steamer brave

Is on the wave,

Bound positively for the Holy Land!

Godfrey of Boulogne and thou

Richard, Lion-hearted King,

Candidly inform us now,

Did you ever

No, you never

Could have fancied such a thing.

Never such vociferations

Entered your imaginations

As the ensuing:

----"Ease her! stop her!"

"Any gentleman for Joppa?"

"'Mascus, 'Mascus?" "Ticket, please, sir;"

"Tyre or Sidon?" "Stop her! ease her!"

"Jerusalem, 'lem, 'lem!"--"Shur! Shur!"

"Do you go on to Egypt, sir?"

"Captain, is this the land of Pharaoh?"

"Now look alive there! Who's for Cairo!"

"Back her! stand clear, I say, old file!"

"What gent or lady's for the Nile?

Or Pyramids?" "Thebes, Thebes, sir, steady!"

"Now. Where's that party for Engeddi?"

Pilgrims, holy Red-Cross knights,

Had you e'er the least idea,

Even in your wildest flights,

Of a steam-trip to Judea?

What next marvel Time will show,

It is difficult to say:

"Omnibus to Jericho,

Only sixpence all the way?"

Cabs in Jerusalem may ply:

'Tis not an unlikely tale;

And from Dan the tourist hie

Unto Beersheba by rail.

* * * * *

A distinguished traveler mentions that in some instances in China, the

"outside barbarians," are sometimes looked upon as gods, and at others

as devils; and he mentions an absurd and very amusing story which

goes to show the fear with which strangers are looked upon by this

superstitious race:

"After my friend had visited the Porcelain Tower, being somewhat

fatigued, he stepped into a barber's shop, and by way of employing

his time, he desired the barber to shave his head. The gentleman wore

a wig, but which, for the sake of coolness, he had placed in his

pocket. This operation of shaving, so common in China, was speedily and

skillfully executed, the barber seeming to be delighted with the honor

of shaving one of the illustrious strangers. Previously to his leaving

the shop, and while the man's attention was called in some other

direction, my friend replaced his wig upon his head, little thinking of

the result of his simple process. No sooner, however, had the barber

turned round, and observed him whom he had so lately cleaned of every

vestige of hair, suddenly covered with a most luxuriant growth, than

taking one steady gaze at him. To make sure that he was not deceived,

he let fall the razor, cleared his counter at a bound, and running

madly through the crowd which was speedily collected, cried out that he

was visited by the devil!

"No entreaties could induce him to return, until every 'outside

barbarian' had left the neighborhood; so palpable a miracle as this

being, in his opinion, quite beyond the powers of all the gods and

demons in the Buddhist calendar!"

* * * * *

Here are a few "_Hints on Popping the Question_," which may be

commended to the bashful, the hesitating, and the ignorant, as well as

to the "instruction" of the lady-readers of "The Drawer:"

"If you call on the 'loved one,' and observe that she blushes as

you approach, give her hand a gentle squeeze, and if she returns

it, 'all right.' 'Get the parents out of the room; sit down on the

sofa beside the most adorable of her sex,' and talk of the 'joys of

wedded life.' If she appears pleased, rise, seem excited, and at

once ask her to say the important, the life-or-death-deciding, the

suicide-or-happiness-settling question. If she pulls out her cambric,

be sure you are accepted. Call her 'My darling Fanny,' and 'my own dear

creature,' and this completes the scene. Ask her to name the blessed

day, and fancy yourself already in Paradise.

"A good plan is, to call on the 'object of your affections' in the

forenoon; propose a walk; mamma consents, in the hope you will declare

your intentions. Wander through the green fields; talk of 'love in

a cottage,' 'requited attachment,' and 'rural felicity.' If a child

happens to pass, of course intimate your fondness for the 'dear little

creatures': this will be a splendid hit. If the coast is clear down you

must fall on your knee, right or left, for there is no rule as to this,

and swear never to rise till she agrees to take you 'for better or for

worse.' If, however, the grass is wet, and you have white pantaloons

on, or if your trowsers are tightly made, of course you must pursue

another plan: say, vow, you will blow your brains out, or swallow

arsenic, or drown yourself, if she won't say yes.

"If you are at a ball, and your charmer is there, captivating all

around her, get her into a corner, and 'pop the question.' Some delay

until after supper, but 'Delays are dangerous'--Round-hand copy.

"A young lady's 'tears,' when accepting you, mean only, 'I am too happy

to speak.' The dumb-show of staring into each other's faces, squeezing

fingers, and sighing, originated, we have reason to believe, with the

ancient Romans. It is much practiced nowadays, as saving breath, and

being much more lover-like than talking."

CONTRIBUTIONS TO OUR DRAWER.

Our city readers will doubtless recollect the public exhibition, at

Niblo's Garden, a few years since, of a magnificent specimen of the

American Century Plant in full bloom.

A certain worthy citizen, of considerable social distinction, but not

remarkably famous for clearness or strength of intellectual vision,

happened to be one morning at the period in question, describing

to a fellow passenger in an omnibus "downward bound" the marvelous

production of nature, which he had just been visiting. The description,

although more immediately addressed to his companion, was (omnibus

orators are not uncommon) leveled at the ten additional sixpences whom

fate had thrown together in the same vehicle. Among the most earnest

listeners, was a meek little man, who ventured, at the conclusion of

our friend's account, to inquire mildly, "if the plant belonged to the

family of the cactuses?"

"Not at all," replied the dignified narrator, with evident compassion

for the ignorance of the questioner, "it belongs to the family of the

Van Renssellaers!"

* * * * *

Shortly after the French Revolution of 1848, at a diplomatic party

in London, the conversation happened to turn upon the extraordinary

inconsistencies of Lamartine's political career, and more particularly

upon the singularity of the conservative position he then occupied,

when contrasted with his revolutionary activity a short time before.

"How does it strike you, Lady M----?" inquired in French an attaché

from one of the continental courts, of a lady not less known as a

literary celebrity, than as a witty conversationalist.

"Monsieur," she replied, without a moment's hesitation, "_il me fait

l'effet d'un incendiaire devenu pompier_"--"Sir, he reminds me of an

incendiary turned fireman."

* * * * *

Speaking of Lamartine, reminds us of a bitter taunt of M. Guizot's

addressed to that gentleman some years before the last overthrow of

the monarchy. It is well known that Lamartine entered public life as

a stanch conservative, and gradually became almost an ultra-radical,

changing, step by step, his seat in the Chamber of Deputies, from

the extreme right to the extreme left. It is equally well known that

many years ago, he made a sort of princely pilgrimage through certain

sections of the East, and published an account of his travels, the

statements in which are reputed to be more or less apocryphal.

Upon the occasion to which we allude, M. Guizot in reply to a violent

attack upon the government by the poetical orator, addressed him

ironically as "_l'illustre voyageur_," _the illustrious traveler_, a

title indifferently applicable to his adversary's Oriental wanderings,

or to his more limited Bedouinism within the four walls of the hall of

legislation.

* * * * *

We should be unwilling to particularize how long since, but at a time

when we were considerably more verdant than at present, we happened

to be traveling in Ireland, that land whence so many travelers come,

but to which so few go. Having one day an invitation to dine with a

gentleman who lived a few miles from one of the second-rate towns, we

engaged a nondescript vehicle and an equally nondescript driver, to

take us to the residence of our friend. Paddy, with an independence

as decided as if it had been nurtured under the stars and stripes,

continued for a good part of the journey smoking villainous tobacco

through a blackened pipe-stump, occasionally relieving his feelings by

howling out some catch of a native melody _not_ idealized by Moore. To

us he did not condescend to address any conversation whatsoever, until

suddenly at a turn of the road we found ourselves passing a grave-yard,

_i.e. Anglice_, church-yard, thickly studded with monuments.

Jehu, turning toward us, rather startled us by the statement that "only

the blind were buried in that spot." Noticing a fine mansion a short

distance beyond, on the same side of the road, we modestly suggested

that probably the imposing building before us was an institution for

the blind.

"Not at all, yer honor," answered Paddy.

"But how then does it happen," we replied, "that this burying-ground is

exclusively for the blind?"

"Why, d'ye see, yer honor," quickly answered the malicious Milesian

(we were a nice young man then, and thought all jokes at our expense

malicious), "we're not in the habit in Ireland of burying people _until

they can no longer see_!"

We had no pipe of our own, not even a stump--so that we could not, if

requested, have put _that_ into it and smoked it.

* * * * *

Some time last summer, a gentleman of Massachusetts, who takes great

interest in the subject of public instruction, and who, if we mistake

not, has some official connection with the public schools of that

State, visited, with an English friend, the Shaker settlement at New

Lebanon. The worthy fraternity have a school of their own, which

during the summer months is open for girls only, the boys taking their

turn in the winter. Strangers are courteously permitted to visit the

establishment, and to examine the scholars. Our two excursionists

accordingly made the school the special object of their first visit

to the village. At the instance of the head instructress our Eastern

friend called out a little girl who possessed a face indicative of more

than ordinary intelligence, to go through her paces in spelling.

"Will you oblige me by spelling the word _feeling_?" was the first

question.

"_F-two-e-l-i-n-g_," replied the child, without a moment's hesitation.

"Try again, my dear," answered the examiner, with a shake of the head.

The pupil spelled the word over again, in precisely the same manner as

at first.

With a dissatisfied expression of countenance the disappointed visitor

was about calling for the "next," when, before he could do so, the

instructress interposed with,

"Nay, friend, perhaps our system of spelling is not familiar to thee.

Under no circumstances do we consent to _doubling any thing here_."

It is a singular sensation when on going abroad one for the first time

finds oneself a foreigner. This is perhaps peculiarly the case with

Americans, for several reasons which we will not trouble the reader

with developing. We get into the habit at home of considering our

national type the standard, a variation from which in any respect is

an evidence of oddness and eccentricity. In ourselves we find nothing

peculiar, and we can not conceive for a moment that in a strange

land, our nationality can at once be detected by signs palpable and

impalpable, but always appreciable to an intelligent eye and ear.

An American freshly arrived in Paris, whether Yankee or Southron, is

certainly occasionally guilty of a class of absurdities, into which

none but a citizen of the Great Republic, would by any accident fall.

The lumber-room of our memory supplies us with an instance in point.

In one of the early years of the last decade, a friend of ours, an

old "_flaneur_" in the Boulevards, met accidentally at Meurice's

Hotel, an acquaintance just come over from one of the great commercial

emporiums of the Union. "The acquaintance" was a personage of standing

"on Change," but not over practiced in some of the conventionalities

of artificial life. After a cordial greeting on both sides, the new

comer put himself into the hands of his more experienced companion,

to be initiated into the mysteries of Paris. Now the first wants that

an American feels in the great metropolis are material wants; the

right place to dine, before the Louvre; a tailor, before Notre-Dame;

and a boot-maker, before the Palais de Justice. It is no small

matter to carry a man through these necessities satisfactorily,

and after all this had been done in the case in question, another

want presented itself; some "_lingerie_" must be procured, such as

pocket-handkerchiefs, &c.

Our man about town at once directed his steps to Doucet's magnificent

establishment in the Rue de la Paix. When they entered the shop, M.

Doucet was in a back room, and the two friends had ample time to

examine and admire various marvelous dressing-gowns, cravats, &c.,

which lay broadcast upon the counters and chairs. Among the articles,

was a lot of superlative pocket-handkerchiefs embroidered in the corner

with a ducal coronet, and the initials of the owner underneath.

"These are uncommonly pretty," exclaimed our novice to his companion,

"I should like wonderfully well to have some for myself embroidered in

the same way."

"But, my dear fellow," replied the other, "these belong to some man of

rank, and of course you would never think of having a coronet upon your

handkerchiefs."

"And why not?" resumed his friend. "I take it, that it is only an

ornament, I don't believe it means any thing, and I don't see why I

should not make use of the same thing, if I like it."

Just then, to the horror of the man of the world, M. Doucet entered,

all smiles and salutations.

"To whom do these pocket-handkerchiefs belong?" inquired our would-be

fashionable friend of M. Doucet, who, by-the-bye, understood and spoke

English.

"To the Duke d'O----, a Spanish nobleman," answered the shopkeeper.

"Could I not have a half-dozen, the exact counterpart of these,

excepting the initials?" asked the customer.

"Undoubtedly, sir," answered Doucet, without the slightest indication

of a smile upon his features.

At this point the unfortunate friend and introducer, who had already

fidgeted his gloves on and off several times during the progress of

the above short dialogue, interposed, and, in the most positive terms,

protested against his companion's being guilty of such an absurdity.

The companion after a moment's dejection in consequence of the decided

manner in which his Mentor had interposed to defeat the little

gratification which he proposed to his vanity, suddenly turning once

more to the expectant master of the establishment, exclaimed,

"But, M. Doucet, at least you can embroider an _American Eagle_ in the

corner of my handkerchiefs?"

This time, M. Doucet _did_ smile, but after an instant he replied, with

perfect seriousness,

"There can be no difficulty, sir, in embroidering an _Eagle_, but I am

quite ignorant of the distinguishing peculiarities of your national

bird."

"Oh, I can soon remedy that," rejoined the now well-pleased customer,

and taking a half-dollar from his pocket, he handed it over as a sample

of what he desired.

In due time, the handkerchiefs were embroidered and delivered. We are

quite sure, however, that our friend, who was up to the proprieties of

Paris life, never again voluntarily placed himself in a position in

which his national pride could be mortified by the ignorance and vanity

of a fellow-countryman.

* * * * *

Some time ago, there flourished, in one of the northern counties of

this State, a Scotch divine who rejoiced in the name of "Caw," and who

was particularly eager to ingratiate himself into the good opinions

of his parishioners and his neighbors. As one means of accomplishing

this, he became violently patriotic in his feelings toward his adopted

country, and never omitted upon every possible occasion to throw

overboard the Scotchman and to assume the American as much as possible.

In the process of time, the worthy doctor built him a house. The

contractor was a shrewd Yankee, who had more respect for the doctor's

dollars than he had for his theology or his transferred patriotism.

One day as the two stood together in front of the nearly finished

parsonage, the minister, turning to his companion, asked,

"Dinna ye think, Mister Doolittle, it would produce an uncommonly good

effect, if ye should put up a carved eagle with spread wings over the

entrance door?"

"You had better put a _crow_ there, Mister _Caw_," was the prompt but

not very civil reply.

* * * * *

We recollect a Scotch blacksmith who used to live, and very likely

continues to do so, on the west side of Church-street in this city. His

establishment was at the farther extremity of an alley-way, and over

the street entrance the following sign attracted the eye of the passer

by:

"Sinclair Lithgow, horse-shoeing smith,

Warks up this close wi' a' his pith;

He does his wark baith weel and soon,

But likes the siller when 'tis done!"

How thoroughly _canny_ is this, particularly the allusion to the

"siller."

Mr. Lithgow, however, deserves a fortune for his wit.

Literary Notices.

One of the most valuable publications of the month is _The Life and

Correspondence of Niebuhr_, the celebrated Roman historian, containing

a sketch of his biography, with copious selections from his familiar

letters on a great variety of literary and personal topics. The

character of Niebuhr is adapted to awaken a deep interest. He reveals

his inner being with remarkable frankness in this correspondence.

His private feelings, his studies, his literary projects, his plans

of life, are all described without reserve. Rugged, unyielding,

opinionated, but singularly honest and benevolent withal, with a

decided infusion of the domestic and friendly element, Niebuhr was a

fine model of Teutonic integrity. His writings are in keeping with

his character. These volumes, moreover, are rich in sketches of

contemporary literary men and politicians, presenting, in fact, a lucid

commentary on the development of German culture during the last half

century. (Harper and Brothers.)

_Romance of Natural History_, by C. W. WEBBER (published by Lippincott,

Grambo, and Co.), is the title of a recent contribution to the

illustration of American forest life, from the pen of a writer

admirably qualified to do justice to the subject, both by his wide

personal experience of romantic adventures on the frontier, and his

uncommon power of bold and graphic description. The volume is composed

of studies in natural history, narratives of remarkable incidents,

pictures of silvan scenery, and sketches of the biography of celebrated

pioneers and woodsmen. In addition to the personal reminiscences of

the author, the work contains numerous striking selections from other

writers, who have described the habits of animals, and scenes in

the hunter's life. Books of this character must always be read with

avidity. They bring us near to the heart of nature. Their influence,

though singularly exciting, is pure and wholesome. The scenes which

they depict present a refreshing contrast to the artificial life of

cities, and open an impressive view of the wonders and glories of

creation. Mr. Webber has won a high rank as a descriptive writer,

by his previous productions. In this department of composition,

he exhibits no less vigor than facility. The present volume is

not unworthy of his reputation. Although occasionally prolix, its

narratives, for the most part, are distinguished for their vivacity,

reproducing the strange experiences of the wilderness with great

freshness and brilliancy of coloring.

_Ivar: or, The Skjuts-Boy_, by Miss CARLEN. (Harper and Brothers.)

A translation of a Swedish novel, by Professor KRAUSE. The writer,

Miss Carlen, is a universal favorite in her native country, where she

is said to sustain even a higher literary reputation than her gifted

contemporary, Fredrika Bremer. She is not only known in the higher

walks of society; but has won a cherished place in the cottages of

the peasantry. She excels in the delineation of female character; her

sketches in this kind combining an exquisite grace and beauty, with

sculpture-like fidelity to nature. Her warmest sympathies are with

the people, and in Sweden, her name is only spoken by their lips with

grateful reverence. The present story abounds in pictures of Swedish

social life--with a great variety of character and incident--embodied

in a cordial, racy style, to which the translator seems to have done

eminent justice.

A new venture in fictitious composition, by the successful authoress of

"The Wide, Wide World," is issued by G. P. Putnam, bearing the harsh

guttural appellation of _Queechy_. It is similar in construction and

tone to the former work, presenting a series of lively portraitures of

country life, and a fine specimen of character-drawing in the person of

its heroine. Without claiming a conspicuous rank as a work of literary

art, this novel shows great freshness of feeling, a high religious aim,

and a genuine love of nature, combined with a quiet lurking humor,

which serves to explain, in part, at least, the wide popularity of

the young authoress. She has the elements of a still more enviable

success, and if she would cherish a greater loyalty to the principles

of dramatic harmony, and bear in mind the old dictum of Hesiod, that

"the half is better than the whole," she would be able to leave this

production quite in the back-ground.

_The Daltons_, by CHARLES LEVER (published by Harper and Brothers), is

the last novel of that popular author, displaying his usual dramatic

force of representation with an unwonted vein of earnest reflection. In

brilliancy of portraiture and vivacity of dialogue, it is not surpassed

by any of his former productions, while in vigor of thought and high

moral purpose it is greatly their superior.

_Hungary_ in 1851, by C. L. BRACE (published by Charles Scribner),

records the adventures of the author in a tour through Hungary, after

the Revolution, where, among other novelties, he gets a taste of the

inside of an Austrian prison. The volume describes the domestic manners

of the Hungarians, in a simple and unpretending narrative, giving us

a highly favorable impression of the Magyar character, and of the

excellent heart and modest enthusiasm of the author as well.

_Pequinillo_ is the title of another story (published by Harper and

Brothers), by G. P. R. JAMES, written in a style of playful gayety,

with frequent touches of sarcastic humor, and many felicitous

delineations of character. We find no shadow of falling off in the

productions of this inexhaustible author, and we trust he will live to

see as many native Americans among the offspring of his genius, as he

has before counted legitimate subjects of the "fast-anchored isle."

A new edition of _English Synonyms_, edited by Archbishop Whately, has

been published by James Munroe and Co. It will be welcome to the lovers

of nice philological distinctions. Without dealing in hair-splitting

subtleties of discussion, it presents a variety of acute verbal

analyses, which are no less adapted to promote accuracy of thought,

than correctness of diction. It may be said that the noblest operations

of the mind refuse to submit to such minute verbal legislation; and

if we admit that the language of passion and imagination must ever

be a law to itself, it is also certain that the processes of pure

thought can not be served by too refined and delicate instruments;

and accordingly, every successful attempt to fix and distinguish the

meaning of words is a valuable service to clearness and efficiency of

intellect. The definitions in this little volume may not always be

accepted; in some instances, they would seem to rest on an arbitrary

basis; but, as a whole, they are marked by good sense, as well as

by critical acumen; and, rich, as they are in suggestions, even to

the most accomplished word-fancier, they can not be studied without

advantage.

Thomas, Cowperthwait, and Co. have published _The Standard Speaker_, by

EPES SARGENT, containing a selection of pieces adapted to declamation,

from the great masters of American and British eloquence and poetry.

It is also enriched with a number of original translations from

the classics, and from eminent modern orators in France. The work

is arranged in a convenient and natural order; excellent taste is

displayed in the selection of matter; and the translations are spirited

and faithful. It will undoubtedly prove a favorite manual of elocution

for the use of schools. Nor is this its only merit. The editor is a

poet himself, and a man of various accomplishments. His fine culture

is every where betrayed in his volume, making it, in fact, a choice

collection of the gems of elegant literature. Hence, it is no less

adapted for family reading, than for seminaries of learning. Mr.

Sargent is entitled to the thanks of all friends of good letters for

the zeal, fidelity, and judgment with which he has performed his task.

_The Glory of Christ_, by Rev. GARDINER SPRING, published in two

volumes by M. W. Dodd, is a profound theological treatise, combining

extensive research, great knowledge of the Scriptures, and practised

skill in argument, with a chaste and animated style, which often rises

into the sphere of vigorous popular eloquence. Dr. Spring discusses

the principal offices in the mission of the Saviour, the glories

of his divine and human natures, and the certain ultimate triumphs

of his kingdom on earth. He treats the subject in an exhaustive

method--leaving little to be said on the same topics--and blending the

austere fervors of the Puritanic age, with the freer and more practical

tendencies of modern times.

_A Manual of Grecian Antiquities_, by Professor CHARLES ANTHON, is

issued by Harper and Brothers, forming a companion volume to the

recent work on Roman Antiquities by the same author. It is prepared

chiefly from materials furnished by Smith's Dictionary of Greek and

Roman Antiquities, Bojesen's Hand-Book, and Hase's admirable treatise

on the Public and Private Life of the Greeks. The convenience of the

arrangement, the completeness of the information, and the condensation

of space in this volume make it a most valuable work of reference, and

it will soon be found on the table of every student of Greek History or

Literature.

_The Works of the late President Olin_, in two volumes, have been

published by Harper and Brothers, comprising a selection from his

pulpit Discourses, his Lectures on Christian and University Education,

and a variety of Missionary and other Addresses and Essays. This

work is a valuable gift to the Christian community in general, and

will be received with a grateful welcome especially by the religious

connection, of which the author was a prominent and beloved member.

Those who knew and honored Dr. Olin in life will cherish these volumes

as an appropriate and expressive memorial of his admirable character

and his abundant labors. The Sermons here given to the public,

though not intended for the press, are models of profound religious

thought, and present numerous specimens of chaste and effective

pulpit eloquence. The Lectures on Education are filled with weighty

suggestions; they exhibit the results of ripened wisdom; showing an

equal knowledge of human nature and sound learning; and in a style of

remarkable sobriety, force, directness, and point.

_Thorpe, A Quiet English Town_, by WILLIAM MOUNTFORD, is a Vague,

Dreamy Story of Humble English Life, mystical in its tone, and languid

in its movement--with little interest in its plot, though presenting

some delicate portraitures of character--displaying less strength

than beauty--and pervaded with a streak of tender sentiment, which

sometimes borders on effeminacy. As an imaginative work, it has slight

pretensions; its lady-like softness and grace are not relieved by any

masculine energy; but its purity of tone and its frequent exquisite

beauty of language reveal a refined and elegant mind, and will

recommend it to cultivated readers. (Boston; Ticknor, Reed, and Fields.)

Harper and Brothers have just issued the second volume of _The Life of

Burns_, by ROBERT CHAMBERS. The correspondence in this volume increases

in interest, showing the character of the impulsive poet in some of its

most extraordinary phases of strength and weakness. His letters, to

Clorinda especially, present an odd experience in the life of a fair

devotee of Scotch Presbyterianism. The circumstances connected with

Burns' marriage to Jean Armour are detailed at length by the biographer.

_Fancies of a Whimsical Man_, by the author of "Musings of an Invalid."

(Published by John S. Taylor.) There is meat in this book--not always

strong, nor savory--but often spiced with piquant provocatives, and

seldom insipid or flat. The tone of satire prevails throughout the

volume; no one can complain of the author for taking things too easy;

he is a grumbler by profession; he lays about him on the right hand

and left with a certain spasmodic violence; but his weapons lack the

curious temper and polished keenness of edge, without which satire

is a mere bludgeon. It may serve to fell an ox, but it can not take

off a man's head so deftly that the beguiled victim is for the moment

unconscious of his loss. Still, this book is out of the common track,

and is well worth reading. It indicates the possession of more power

than was used in its composition.

_Lyra and other Poems_, by ALICE CAREY (published by Redfield), is

a neat volume, containing a selection from the author's poetical

writings, which have been already widely circulated in the public

journals. They include her most characteristic productions, and are

well suited to legitimate her claims to a high rank among our native

poets. Though not distinguished for striking originality, or deep

bursts of passion, they display a rare susceptibility to poetical

impressions, and a flowing sweetness of versification which give them a

peculiar charm, in spite of the uniform sadness of their tone. Several

of the pieces are effusions of melting pathos, clothed in language of

great terseness and simplicity--but the same theme too often recurs,

producing the effect of a long-drawn plaintive wail. Miss Carey has a

quick and accurate eye for nature; her fancy swarms with a profusion

of rural images; the humblest forms of domestic life supply her with

the materials of poetry; and with uncommon facility of expression, she

finds the way to the heart by the true feeling and quiet tenderness

of her verse. The most elaborate piece in this volume is entitled

"Lyra, a Lament," and we presume is a favorite with Miss Carey's more

enthusiastic admirers. It displays a rich luxuriance of imagery; all

the flowers of the seasons are woven into the elegiac wreath; but it is

too artificial, too curiously wrought for the subject; it seems more

like an experiment in poetry, than the sincere outpouring of grief;

it has an antique Miltonic flavor, instead of the freshness of native

fruit; and, for our part, we much prefer the more simple poems, "Jessie

Carol," "Annie Clayville," "Lily Lee," "Annuaries," "The Shepherdess,"

and the like, which are tender and tearful without pretension.

_Hand-Book of Wines_, by THOMAS MCMULLEN (Published by Appleton and

Co.) Some will regard this work as a Natural History of Poisons,

under a different name; others, as a Treatise on one of the branches

of the Art of Enjoying Life. Both will find it to be a complete

mine of knowledge on the subjects of which it treats. That portion

of its contents which addresses itself to practical men, whether

as physicians, dealers, or judicious consumers, is carefully and

critically compiled from the most distinguished foreign authors, to

whose observations Mr. McMullen's own long and extensive experience

gives weight and sanction. His chapter on the "Purchasing of Wines"

is replete with good sense and will open the eyes of many who think

themselves connoisseurs. We believe that the conclusion at which he

arrives is the true one, namely, that "the only security against being

imposed upon, and the secret of procuring good wine, is to purchase

from honorable and respectable merchants, whose character and judgment

can be relied upon, and to whom a reputation for selling fine wines is

of ten times more importance than any thing they could expect to make

by adulteration."

Another chapter, entitled "Of the Art of Drinking Wine," appears to us

likely to prove highly useful to such youthful or inexperienced hosts

as may wish to dispense the bounties of their hospitality with the

most approved elegance, yet somewhat doubt their own judgment on such

points, or their acquaintance with established precedent.

To ourselves, Rechabites in principle if not in name, the work was

attractive chiefly from its descriptions of the lands whence "the sweet

poison of misused wine" is procured.

Having ourselves wandered through most of them, we could the better

test the accuracy of our author, and we can assure our readers, both

those who have trodden those fertile soils, where the amber and the

purple grape yield such goodly produce, and those fireside travelers

who would fain learn what Nature has done for other lands, that under

Mr. McMullen's guidance they will make a pleasant and profitable tour,

and on their return find themselves in their easy chairs, edified in

mind and not fatigued in body.

* * * * *

A book which will delight many readers, the life of the veteran

entomologist and Christian philosopher, Mr. KIRBY, is announced for

publication. It is drawn up chiefly from his own letters and journals,

by the Rev. John Freeman, M.A., clergyman of a parish not far from that

of which Mr. Kirby was long the rector. William Spence, whose name is

ever associated with the subject of the memoir, supplies a "sketch of

the history of his forty-five years' friendship with Mr. Kirby, and

of the origin and progress of the 'Introduction to Entomology,' with

numerous extracts from Mr. Kirby's letters to him." This will be not

the least valuable portion of a volume to which we look forward with

much interest.

* * * * *

Among other works announced for speedy publication by Messrs. Longman

and Co. we observe a new book of travels, by Mr. SAMUEL LAING, _Notes

on the Political and Social State of Denmark and the Duchies of

Holstein and Sleswick_; also, _Count Arenberg_, a story of the times

of Martin Luther, by Mr. SORTAINE, whose tale of _Hildebrand and the

Emperor_ was favorably received by the public. In the Traveler's

Library, a translation is to appear from the German, of an _Expedition

from Sennar to Taka, Basa, and Beni-Ameer_, by FREDERIC WERNE, author

of the 'Expedition to the Sources of the White Nile.'

The _Life and Correspondence of the late Lord Langdale_, is in

progress, and will be published by Mr. Bentley, who announces likewise

two series of biographies that promise ample material of interest--1.

Lives of the Archbishops of Canterbury; 2. Lives of the Prime Ministers

of England.

* * * * *

The Duke of WELLINGTON, it recently transpired, has appointed the well

known historical writer, Lord MAHON, to be his literary executor, and

as his Lordship stands in the same relation to the late Sir ROBERT

PEEL, he will have enough to do.

* * * * *

A Memoir of the late Rev. Dr. PYE SMITH is in preparation: also the

publication, nearly ready, of the course of lectures on Christian

Theology, prepared by that divine for the students in Homerton College;

they have undergone revision, and will be edited by the Rev. WILLIAM

FARREN, Librarian of New College.

* * * * *

MARY HOWITT, who has already endeared herself to the hearts of all

children by her many fascinating and interesting publications for the

young, is about to undertake the editorship of a new juvenile magazine

the first number of which was expected to appear in June.

* * * * *

The lectures of NIEBUHR on Ancient History, translated from the German,

with additions and corrections, by Dr. L. SCHMITZ, once a pupil of

the historian, will shortly be published. The work consists of three

volumes, comprising the history of all the nations of antiquity, with

the exception of that of Rome. In his account of the Asiatic Empires

and of Egypt, Niebuhr is reported to have foretold, more than twenty

years ago, the splendid discoveries which have been made in our days

by Mr. Layard and by others. By far the greater portion of the work is

devoted to the history of the Greeks and Macedonians.

* * * * *

A translation has appeared, by LEONORA and JOANNA HORNER, of HANS

CHRISTIAN OERSTED'S _Soul of Nature_. Professor Oersted died last year

at the age of seventy-four, a few months after a jubilee was held

in honor of the fiftieth anniversary of his eminent services at the

University of Copenhagen. In 1836 he attended the British Association

at Southampton, at the closing general meeting of which Sir John

Herschel pronounced a high eulogy of the Danish philosopher, and

described the new fields of research which he had opened up, including

that important discovery which has led to the invention of the electric

telegraph. A brief memoir of Oersted's life and labors is prefixed

to the volume. Few men have so combined the patience and labor of

experimental research with the genius and boldness of philosophical

speculation. The writings of Oersted are eminently suggestive as well

as instructive; and with the researches on electricity, magnetism,

and other branches of natural science, there are interspersed many

wonderful discourses on the relation of the material and the spiritual,

of the body and "the soul in nature."

* * * * *

Of English literary gossip we have two or three stray fragments worth

setting down. The one is, that TENNYSON is busy with a new poem,

of a totally different order from any he has yet published, unless

the fragment of the _Morte d'Arthur_ be counted; another is, that

the gay and brilliant author of _The Bachelor of the Albany_ has

nearly completed a new novel of a philosophical and satirical turn.

THACKERAY, whose historical novel was to have been published last

Christmas, has not finished much more than half of his work.

* * * * *

JOHANNES RONGE, resident in England, announces as in preparation, a

new work, to be published by subscription, on _The Reformation of the

Nineteenth Century, or the Religion of Humanity_--a subject, tasking

the highest powers.

* * * * *

The London journals announce the resignation of his chair of Moral

Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh by Prof. WILSON. The cause

assigned by the veteran poet and critic is ill health.

* * * * *

The Americans, says _The London Athenæum_, are becoming a race of

book-buyers. Every purchaser of old books--the literature of the period

between Gower and Milton--has found by experience how much the demand

which has sprung up within these dozen years across the Atlantic for

such works has tended to enhance their value in this country. Every

few days, too, we hear of some famous library, museum, or historical

collection being swept off to the "New World." This week supplies two

notable examples:--the Prince of Canino's valuable museum of natural

history, his library, and his gallery of Art have all been purchased

by a private American gentleman; and the library of Neander has been

bought by the Senate of Rochester University in the State of New York.

Neander's books constitute one of the best collections on theology in

Germany.

* * * * *

Our cousin John across the water is "nothing if not critical." His

notices of American books are exceedingly curious specimens in their

kind, usually remarkable for their self-complacent insolence. "The

Howadji in Syria," however, seems to have won golden opinions, as

witness the following from _The Morning Herald_:

"Even those of our readers who have taken up Mr. Curtis's 'Nile Notes,'

and have been unable to lay them down again till the last page too

soon presented itself, can hardly conceive the fascination which his

'Wanderings in Syria,' just published, will be sure to exercise over

their senses. Arabian poets have celebrated the beauty of Cairo and of

Damascus, 'the pearl of the East,' and modern travelers have put forth

all their powers of description, and have invoked fancy to aid them

in their praise; but none of these latter have ever caught and been

kindled by the Oriental charm in an equal degree with Mr. Curtis. His

work is a perfect gem--a luxury of beauty, and grace, and poetry, which

all must read, and none can ever forget."

The notice of the same work in _The Examiner_, bestows reluctant praise:

"Another book has also appeared on the East by a lively foreign

visitor, an American, who sought only pleasure and adventure there,

and of course found both. 'The Wanderer in Syria,' by Mr. George

William Curtis, is a volume supplementary to his 'Nile Notes,' formerly

published. The subjects are the Desert, Jerusalem, and Damascus; but

the writer's manner and intention are less to describe what any other

person may see in those places, and in eastern circumstances, than to

tell us what thoughts and fancies, whimsical, poetical, fanciful, they

suggested to him, the writer. His fault is to betray something too much

of an effort both in his gravities and gayeties; but on the other hand

the effort is not always unsuccessful. He is often undeniably gay, and

as often says grave things worth listening to. We do not like him the

worse for his love of America and occasional supercilious sneers at

Cockneyism."

* * * * *

The following passage from a letter written recently by LEIGH HUNT will

excite much sympathy and regret:--"I have not been out of my house (by

medical advice) for these two months; for a considerable time past, I

have not been able to visit my nearest connections, even by day; and

last year I was not able to indulge myself with a sight of what all the

world were seeing, though for the greater part of its existence I was

living not a mile from the spot. To complete this piece of confidence,

into which your making me of so much importance to myself has led me,

and not leave my friends with a more serious impression of the state

of my health than I can help, I have reason to believe that the coming

spring will be more gracious to me than the last; and many are the

apparent overthrows from which I have recovered in the course of my

life. But age warns me that I must take no more liberties with times

and seasons."

* * * * *

Lady MORGAN has addressed a letter to one of the auditors of the

Benevolent Society of St. Patrick, proposing that a monument to MOORE

should be raised in the poet's native city. She says: "The name of

Ireland's greatest poet suggests an idea which perhaps is already

more ably anticipated, that some monumental testimony to his honor

should be raised in St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin; for Westminster

might well deny such a distinction to the Irish bard as was refused to

the remains of England's greatest poet since the time of Shakspeare

and Milton--Byron. Nowhere could the monument of Moore be more

appropriately placed than near that of Swift."

* * * * *

THOMAS HICKS, the artist, exhibits this year at the National Academy,

a full-length portrait of ex-Governor FISH, which is _the_ picture

of the exhibition. Mr. HICKS is the first of our artists. In just

conception--splendor of color--vigor and accuracy of drawing--poetic

imagination and living reality of impression, he has no master this

side the sea.

* * * * *

A portion of Mr. RALPH WALDO EMERSON'S Essays has been translated and

published in Paris, by M. Emile Montegut. An interesting review of this

volume has appeared in the _Pays_. The writer says that, "by a strange

anomaly, in the classic land of daring and of novelty, all literary

productions bear the same evidences of imitation; all are more or less

remarkable for their close adherence to the style of some foreign

model." Then he declares Cooper to be a disciple of Walter Scott, but

at the same time, much more American than Washington Irving, who is the

faithful copier of Robertson and Addison.

* * * * *

M. de Bacourt, one of the executors of the late Prince de Talleyrand,

has written a letter to the public journals stating that frauds similar

to those lately discovered in England relative to Shelley's letters,

have been attempted in France with letters falsely stated to have been

written by the late prince. "I have in my possession at present,"

says M. de Bacourt, "a certain number of those letters, imitating

exceedingly well the writing of the deceased Prince--but which have

been declared by the persons intimate with the deceased, such as M.

Guizot, the Duke de Broglie, Count Molé, Duke Pasquier, &c., to be

forgeries."

[Illustration: RAILWAY OFFICIAL.--"You'd better not smoke, sir!"

TRAVELER.--"That's what my Friends say."

OFFICIAL.--"But you _mustn't_ smoke, sir!"

TRAVELER.--"So my Doctor tells me."

OFFICIAL (indignantly).--"But you _sha'n't_ smoke, sir!"

TRAVELER.--"Ah! just what my wife says."]

[Illustration: CHILDISH TEETOTAL MOVEMENT.

GRANDPAPA.--"But for Seventy Years, my Child, I have found that the

moderate use of the Good Things of this Life has done me good."

YOUNG HOPEFUL TEETOTALLER.--"All a mistake, Grandpa'. Total Abstinence

is the thing. Look at me! I've not tasted Wine or Beer for years!"]

[Illustration: DEFERENCE TO THE SEX.

"Will any Lady have the Politeness to ride outside, to accommodate a

Young Gentleman?"]

Fashions for Early Summer.

[Illustration: FIGURES 1 AND 2. BALL COSTUMES AND COIFFURES.]

We confine our illustrations of the Fashions for the month of June to

in-door costumes, since, in our variable and uncertain climate, the

general out-door costumes appropriate to the closing month of spring

are equally adopted for the opening summer month. The three styles of

coiffure, which we present, though very different in general effect, as

well as in detail, are each strikingly elegant and beautiful.

FIGURE 1 represents a very elegant BALL DRESS. Two _pattes_ spring from

the top of the head to the right and the left of the parting; they

descend to the broad bandeaux, and are each entwined with a lock of the

hair. The _coiffure_ is ornamented with a wreath of reed-leaves, in

velvet and gold, with here and there small golden reeds. The leaves,

small in the middle, increase in size at the sides, where they are

intermingled with two white plumes, gracefully curved. The robe is

of taffeta, trimmed with velvet. The body is low in the neck, having

two _berthes_ of taffeta, which form the point in front, and rise to

the shoulders, so as to form the _châle_ behind. These _berthes_ are

not gathered. They are fastened to the body in front by three jeweled

clasps. The body is somewhat pointed at the waist. The sleeves are

close and short. The skirt is double. The lower one has two flounces;

the upper one is held up on the left side by a bunch of white feathers,

with a cordon of reed-leaves, similar to those of the _coiffure_. The

lower flounce, of twelve inches in depth, has a ruby-colored velvet of

three inches; the upper flounce, of ten inches, has a velvet of two and

a half inches; and the tunic, one of two inches. These are all placed

about an inch from the edge. The velvet upon the _berthe_ and sleeves

is not more than an inch and a quarter.

FIGURE 2.--_Coiffure à la Jolie Femme._--The hair is knotted somewhat

low behind, and retained by a jeweled comb; the bandeaux are very much

waved; the hair, from the front parting, is somewhat raised. The robe

is low, with very short sleeves; the skirt very elegant, with large

folds. The body is sown with little bouquets of variegated roses, small

at the waist, but growing larger toward the bottom. These flowers,

which are painted, are apparently fastened by a rich ribbon which

ties them together, and which is embroidered upon the silk in shaded

white. The flowers are apparently suspended by strings of pearls, also

produced by embroidering. This robe, of _moir antique_, is very rich.

A lace pelerine, forming the circle behind, ornaments the body. This

lace has a very light pattern upon the edge. It forms the point in

front, and is ornamented all around with a lace _volant_, very slightly

gathered. Lace sleeves, straight and rather short, leave the whole arm

visible through them. A bunch of rose-leaves and rose-buds adorns the

whole front of the body. This bunch is flattened at the bottom so as

not to enlarge the waist. A long and elegant chain of gold, flung over

the shoulders, falls down upon the skirt.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--FULL DRESS FOR EVENING.]

The hair is ornamented with diamonds. Two plats beginning at each

side of the centre parting of the forehead, are raised, and tied in

the middle; they then descend at the sides, where they are enveloped

by curls thrown backward. Behind, the hair twisted in a cord, forms

four circles. The _torsades_ are fastened by a jeweled comb. In that

part which constitutes the bandeaux are three mounted _agrafes_ on

each side. The skirt is of white taffeta, with a lace flounce, of

twelve inches in depth. Tunic-robe of white _moire antique_. The

body is open in front, and trimmed with a pointed _berthe_, slit up

at the shoulders. This _berthe_ is decorated, at a distance of about

half an inch from the edge, with a gold band of nearly an inch in

width, fastened by a gold cord, passing through seven eyelet-holes.

It is the same at the slit on the shoulders, only in these places

the cords terminate in gold tassels hanging down. The edge of the

tunic is ornamented with gold galloon, the lower galloon is one and a

quarter inches wide, the second three-fourths of an inch, the third

three-eighths. The first of these galloons is three-fourths of an inch

from the edge, and the distance between them is half an inch, so that

from the edge to the top of the last galloon the depth is about four

inches. Each opening of the tunic has a conical shape; the corners

are rounded. The sleeves are round, and edged with galloon. The

chemisette, which reaches above the low front of the body, is composed

of lace like the flounce, and forms fan-shaped fluted plaits, confined

by a thread passing through, and supported by the lacing of the front.

The two following out-door costumes are decidedly pretty:

CARRIAGE COSTUME.--_Jupe_ of lilac silk, with three deep flounces;

there is a figured band at the edge of each flounce woven in the

material; body _à la veste_ of purple velvet fitting close; it is open

in the front, and has a small collar and lapel. The sleeves are wide;

they have a broad cuff which turns back _à mousquetaire_. Waistcoat of

white _moire antique_: it is closed at the throat and waist, it is then

left open to show the frill of the habit-shirt. Transparent bonnet of

light green _crèpe_, trimmed with white _blonde_: the brim is lined

with a broad _blonde_ with a deep vandyked edge, the points of which

come to the edge of the brim: inside trimmings and strings of shaded

ribbon, long shaded feather drooping on the right side.

PROMENADE COSTUME.--Silk dress, the skirt with three flounces: a rich

_chinée_ pattern is woven at the edge of each flounce, the last being

headed by a band of the same. The body is plain, opens in the front

nearly to the waist; the sleeves are wide, three-quarter length, and

like the _corsage_, are finished to correspond with the flounces.

_Manteau à la valerie_, this _manteau_ takes the form of the waist, and

is rounded gracefully at the back; it is embroidered and trimmed with

a rich fringe _en groupes_: the fringe with which the cape is trimmed,

reaches nearly to the waist: the ends, which are square in front, have

a double row of fringe and embroidery. The bonnet is a mixture of white

_crèpe_ and fine straw; the strings shaded, to correspond: placed low

at each side are feather rosettes shaded pink and white.

In the materials, we must call the attention of our fair readers to the

_unique_ and beautiful silks for dresses; besides the elegant designs

woven at the edge of the flounce, there are patterns woven for each

part of the dress--the sleeves, corsage, and _basquire_.

[Illustration: FIGURES 4 AND 5.--CAPS.]

We give plates of two very elegant caps, which have made their

appearance. Figure 4 is a dress cap, of _tulle_ and blonde, trimmed

with ribbon and small banches of flowers. Figure 5 is a morning cap,

entirely of lace insertion, and between each row is a narrow gauze

ribbon, rolled or twisted. The borders of rich lace.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a

predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they

were not changed.

Simple typographical and spelling errors were corrected.

Italics words are denoted by _underscores_.

Bold words are denoted by =equals=.