Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

Leaving now the caprices of fashion, we must notice a class of persons who, from a religious motive, have resisted for two hundred years the tyranny of fashion, and until recently have transmitted the same form of dress from mother to daughter for nearly the same period of years. The ladies of the Society of Friends, or as they are usually called "Quakers," are still distinguished by the simplicity and neatness of their dress--the quiet drabs and browns of which frequently contrast with the richness of the material--and by the absence of all ornament and frippery. Every part of their dress is useful and convenient; it has neither frills nor flounces, nor trimmings to carry the dirt and get shabby before the dress itself; nor wide sleeves to dip in the plates, and lap up the gravy and sauces, nor artificial flowers, nor bows of ribbons. The dress is long enough for decency, but not so long as to sweep the streets, as many dresses and shawls are daily seen to do. Some few years back, the Quaker ladies might have been reproached with adhering to the letter, while they rejected the spirit of their code of dress, by adhering too literally to the costume handed down to them. The crowns of their caps were formerly made very high, and for this reason it was necessary that the crowns of the bonnets should be high enough to admit the cap crown; hence the particularly ugly and remarkable form of this part of the dress. The crown of the cap has, however, recently been lowered, and the Quaker ladies, with much good sense, have not only modified the form of their bonnets, but also adopted the straw and drawn-silk bonnet in their most simple forms. In the style of their dress, also, they occasionally approach so near the fashions generally worn, that they are no longer distinguishable by the singularity of their dress, but by its simplicity and chasteness.

PREPARATIONS FOR COMPANY.

A hostess who wishes that her friends should enjoy their dinner, and that she also should enjoy it with them, must see that all is ready and at hand _before_ her guests arrive. If her servants are well trained, and accustomed to do things regularly, _when_ there is _no_ company, there will be little difficulty when there _is_; and if there is that pleasant understanding between the head and the hands of the household which should always exist, any casual mistake will easily be rectified; an accident itself will occasion more fun than fuss; and although no host and hostess should feel as unconcerned or indifferent at their own table as elsewhere, the duty of seeing that nobody wants anything will be manifestly a pleasant one, whilst the simple cordiality, which delights in good appetites and cheerful countenances, and the domestic order which is evidently, but unostentatiously, the presiding genius of the family, will go far to enhance the flavor of the simplest fare.

A GREAT MULROONEY STORY.

ALL ABOUT TIM DELANEY. HOW HE WINT COORTIN' WID HIS MASTHER, AND THE CONSEQUENCES.

BY SYLVANUS URBAN, THE YOUNGER.

"Wanst upon a time--an', sure, that's not so long ago, afther all--there wor a grate fri'ndship betune the familees of the Sullivans an' the O'Briens; but, by raison of their livin' a long ways apart, they niver sot eyes on ache other for many's the year, though they kep' up the ould good-will by writin' letthers back an' fore, wid the shuperscupshins of, 'Yer humble sarvint to command, Murtoch O'Brien ma bouchal,' or, 'May the heavins be yer bed, an' glory be wid ye, Dennis Sullivan a hagur!'

"Well, the years rowled by, an', in the mane time, the sunshine lived foriver in the house of Murtoch O'Brien, in the shape of a daughther that bate the wureld for beauty; while Dinnis Sullivan wor prouder of his son Maurice nor if he had found all the goold mines of Californy, wid all the jooels of the Aist Injees to the top of 'em. Oh, faix, but ye may be sartin that the ould min in their letthers gossipped about the childher, an' that Misther O'Brien, bein' discinded from the anshint kings of Munsther, belaved his daughther Norah the aquil of any princess in Eurip and Aishey, lettin' alone the Turkeys and the Roosthers--Rooshins, I mane--an' the Jarmans, an' the Frinch, an' all the other haythens.

"Well, by coorse, by an' by, young Masther Maurice an' the butyful Miss Norah wor conthracted thegither by the ould people; though, it's the thruth I'm sayin', nayther of the youngsthers wor beknowin' to it at all, until wan day, when Maurice wor near grown to be a man, his fadher up an' tould him what he had done. 'Well an' good!' sez Maurice, for he wor a mighty purty behaved young jintleman; an', wid that, he crasses over the salt say into forrin parts, where he larned to ate frogs in France, an' to sleep undher a feather bed in Jarmany, wid his exthremities stickin' out. By an' by, whin he had finished his eddicashin at the Jarman Univarsity, by dhrillin' a hole wid a small sword through the arum of wan Count Dondher an' Blixum, an' by bein' mortially wounded in his undher garmint hisself, Maurice thravels back to the ould counthry. Oh, but Dinnis Sullivan wor mighty plased to shake hands wid his darlin' boy agin! an' he grown so tall, an' sthrong, an' manly like.

"'Maurice, avourneen!' sez his fadher, tindherly, 'seein' 'tis of age ye are, an' may be I'll not be wid ye long, sure it 'u'd be plasin' me to see yeez marri'd at wanst to Norah O'Brien,' sez he.

"'But how will I tell whether I'll like her or no?' sez Maurice, dub'ously.

"'By raison that she's a hairess and a grate beauty,' sez the ould jintleman.

"'Thim's good things in their way,' sez Maurice; 'but may be I'll be ruinashin'd, afther all, wid the crooked timper.'

"'Make yerself parfaitly aisey on that score, Maurice ma bouchal,' sez his fadher. 'Honey isn't swater, nor butther safter.'

"'May be 'tis too saft she is,' sez Maurice.

"'Tare an' ounties!' sez the ould jintleman, in a grate passion. 'What 'u'd yees like to have, I'd be plased to know? Isn't Murtoch O'Brien my ould fri'nd, an' wan I niver had a quarrel wid in my life, batin' the bottle he throw'd at my head at ould Thrinity, an' the bullet I lodged in his side on the banks of the Liffey one morn? Sure, afther that affeckshinate raymonsthrance we wor betther fri'nds nor iver we wor before.'

"Well, by this an' by that, seein' the ould jintleman wor bint upon the match, Maurice consints to ride over an' coort the young lady, purvided he might take wid him his fostherer, wan Tim Delaney. Sure I know'd him well, for he wor own cousin to myself by the mudher's side, an' he it wor as tould me this sthory.

"'Take him by all manes,' sez the ould jintleman. 'I've not the laste objeckshin. 'Tis a dacent lad he is, an' a betther face or a n'ater figure, barrin' yer own, Maurice dear, there's not to be found in all the county. He desarves to be put forrid in the wureld. He's not althegither an' ignoraymus nayther,' sez he, 'for Fadher Doran thried to bate the humanities into him for the matther of two saisons; an', though he butthers his mattymatticks wid poetical conthribushins, an' peppers an' salts the larned langwidges wid aljebrayickal calkilations, there's a dale of larnin' in that head of his, av he only understhood the manage of it.'

"So, wid that, Misther Maurice sed he wor contint, an', sendin' his thrunk on afore him by the faymale stage, he"----

"Stop! stop! Mulrooney! I was not aware of any distinction between one stage and another. Will you do me the favor to enlighten me?"

"Arrah now," said Peter, boldly, "don't I know the differ? Sure, if the coaches as carries the letthers is the male stages, it stands to raison thim as doesn't must be the faymales."

"Humph! Admirably defined! Well, go on."

"An' thin--an' thin--och, wirrasthrue! but I've lost the sthory complately an' enthirely, by makin' a dickshunary of myself."

"Let me jog your memory, then. Maurice sent his trunk on before"----

"That's it," said Peter, "by the faymale stage, an' set out on horseback wid hisself an' Tim, bright an' early the nixt morn, for Carrigathroid. Well, they hadn't gone more nor a few miles, afore little Micky Dunn, the stable boy, comes tearin' down the road to say that the masther had been takin' suddintly wid a fit of the gout, an' that Misther Maurice must go back an' attind the sale of Ned Ryan's place, as the ould jintleman wanted it to square off the corner of the upper farm.

"'Oh, musha, thin, but what'll I do?' sez Maurice. ''Tis unlucky to turn back; an', besides, my thrunk is gone on afore, wid all the b'utyful clothes in it I brought from France an' Jarmany.'

"'Faix, but that's bad!' sez Tim; 'an' I misthrustin' Andy Shehan, the dhriver. May be 'tis betther I'd thravel on afther him?'

"''Deed an' 'deed, I think so,' sez Maurice. 'An' take this kay along wid ye, Tim,' sez he, 'an' sarch if the things isn't spirited away, or smashed up enthirely. An', Tim,' sez he, 'there's a letther of interjuckshin in the thrunk which I want yees to deliver at wanst, for fear the ould squireen'll be onaisey, as he expected me the day. An', Tim,' sez he, lowerin' his voice, 'I'll be plased if ye'll take it to Carrigathroid yerself, an' see if Miss Norah is half so purty an' good as fadher sez she is.'

"'Why wouldn't she be,' sez Tim, 'if the masther sez so?'

"'Throth an' I dun 'no',' sez Maurice; 'but I'd like to larn that aforehand from yer own lips, Tim, avick.'

"'Faix, that's aisey enough, I does be thinkin',' sez Tim. 'You folly afther as quick as ye can, Misther Maurice; an', in the mane time,' sez he, 'I'll pay my respicts to the family.'

"So, wid that, they took lave of one another, an' Tim thravelled on to the town where the young masther's thrunk wor left, a bit mile or so from O'Brien's, of Carrigathroid.

"'Where's the thrunk as wor left here by Andy Shehan?' sez he to the woman of the stage-house.

"'Up stairs,' sez she, 'all safe an' sound.'

"'I'll see that,' sez he. An' up stairs he goes an' opens the thrunk, an' looks over the clo'es, an' the dimont pins, and the goold watch, an' the chains an' rings galore; an', sure enough, they wor all there nate an' nice, as Ally Bawn said when the six childher fell into the saft of the bog. Oh, murther, but now comes the sthrangest part of the sthory. When Tim seen the things forenent him, an' how b'utyful they wor, he begins to wondher how he'd look in thim; an' thin he looks at his own coorse clothes, all plasthered and besmudthered over wid the dirthy wather of the road.

"'How will I carry the masther's letther to the big house, an' I lookin' for all the wureld like a dirthy bogthrotter?' sez he. 'Sure I'd be shamefaced to show myself in dacent company. 'Tis a mighty fine thing to be a jintleman,' sez he, lookin' at the thrunk ag'in. 'Oh, but thim's the grand coats, an' pantalloons, an' goolden things,' sez he; 'sure, I thinks the likes of 'em wor niver seed afore. May be,' sez he, coagitatin' the matther--'may be Misther Maurice wouldn't be onaisey if I loaned thim of him for a bit while, ispishilly as it's his sarvice that I'll be on. Sure, 'tis no harum to thry if they fits me,' sez he. An', begorra, afore he know'd it, he wor dhressed in thim b'utyful garmints, an' lookin' grander nor iver he did in his mortial life. Prisently, he flings back the dure, an' discinds the stairs wid all the goold chains a danglin' about his neck, an' wid a fine goold watch fasthened by a raal dimont pin to the breast of his flowery silk weskit: 'For,' sez he, 'sure they wouldn't know I had sich purty things, if I didn't show thim.'

"'Oh, but it does my heart good to see sich a han'some jintleman!' sez the misthress of the house, makin' a low curchey. 'Didn't I know,' sez she, 'yer honnor wor the raal quality the minnit I seen the shine of yer face at the dure. Indade, an' faix, it's the thruth I'm sayin', plase goodness.'

"'Arrah, now, be done wid yer blarney,' sez Tim, flourishin' a white han'kercher as wor sthronger wid sint nor a flower-garden. 'Don't conthaminate yer centhrifujals bu spakin' so odoriferously,' sez he; 'but tell me, like the dacent woman ye are, where'll I sarch for a barber?'

"'That's aisey,' sez she; 'for sure there's wan next dure to the corner.'

"So, wid that, out goes Tim, houldin' up his pantaloons wid both hands to keep thim clane, an' prisently he steps in at the barber's shop as bould as a lord.

"'Barber!' sez he.

"'Sir,' sez a little thin-shanked man.

"'Shave me,' sez Tim, settin' hisself down in the big chair, while the little man wor sthrappin' away at the razhier. 'Aisey, my good man,' sez Tim, 'an' cut the stubble clane.'

"'Oh, I'll do that same,' sez the barber. 'Be du husht, av ye plase.' An', afore Tim could say Larry Houlaghan, his beard wor off.

"'Barber,' sez Tim.

"'Sir,' sez the little man.

"'Frizzle my head,' sez Tim.

"An', widout any ghosther at all, the spry little man pokes a long iron thing into the fire.

"'Oh, murther!' sez Tim. 'What's that?'

"'Thim's the curlin'-tongs,' sez the barber.

"'Oh,' sez the cunnin' Tim, turnin' up his nose, 'thim's the ould time fashion. May be ye niver seen the frizzlin' insthrument they use in forrin parts?'

"'Sorra one have I seed, barrin' the masheen in my hand,' sez the barber.

"''Tworn't to be expected of yees, in this outlandish place,' sez Tim.

"'Hould still, if ye pl'ase,' sez the barber, takin' a grip of his hair.

"'Ouch!' sez Tim. 'L'ave me go, will yees? By japurs, but 'tis pullin' all my hair off ye are!'

"''Tisn't likely I'd do that, wid my exparience,' sez the little man. 'Sure, many's the quality I've dhressed the heads of in my day.' An', wid that, he saizes hould of another lock of hair, an' gives it a grip and a twist.

"'Tundher an' turf!' sez Tim, startin' up in a mighty big passion. 'Would ye burn my head aff afore my eyes? 'Tisn't a stuck pig I am that ye're singein' for bacon,' sez he.

"'Musha, thin, but that's thrue, anyhow,' sez the barber. An' on he wint, frizzlin' first one side and thin the other, till, by an' by, Tim's head wor all over corkskrews, like a haythen naygur's.

"'How will I look?' sez Tim, goin' to a glass. 'Augh! millia! murther! 'Tisn't my own face that I see yondher?'

"''Deed but it is,' sez the barber.

"'Oh, wirrasthrue!' sez Tim, wringin' his hands. 'What'll I do? 'Tis ruinashin'd I am, clane out an' inthirely! I'll be mistakin' myself for a sthranger!'

"'Yea, thin,' sez the little man, 'there's no denyin' but yees wondherfully improved in apparence.'

"'Botherashin!' sez Tim; 'but how will I raycognize myself, I'd like to know?'

"Sure, but he had the throubled look whin he mounted his horse; but, by the time he got to Carrigathroid, his spirits came back agin, an' he fasthens the baste to the swingin' bough of a three, an' steps up to the dure an' knocks as bould as Joolyus Saizer.

"'Hallo! House! Whoop!'

"'What's the matther, my good man?' sez a sarvant, answerin' the dure.

"'Matther?' sez Tim. 'Plinty's the matther. Here's a letther for Misther O'Brien, wid the respicts of the owner.'

"'Yer name, sir, if ye pl'ase,' sez the man.

"'Tell him Misther Sullivan sint it,' sez Tim.

"'Oh!' sez the man, makin' a low bow. 'Obleege me by walkin' in; ye're expicted.'

"An', wid that, he marches on afore, Tim followin' afther, an' flings open the dure of a grand room all blazin' wid light, an' sings out--

"'Misther Sullivan!'

"'Oh, murther!' sez Tim to hisself. ''Tis changed I am by that frizzlin' barbarian!'

"'Ah, my young fri'nd,' sez Misther O'Brien, takin' him by the hand, ''tis pl'ased I am to see ye the day! Let me presint ye to my daughther. Norah, mavourneen, this is Misther Maurice Sullivan.'

"'Och, the beauty of the wureld!' sez Tim, quite flusthrated. 'Call me Delaney, av ye pl'ase.'

"'Ah, I undherstand,' sez the ould squireen, wid a smile. 'The Delaneys is yer relashins.'

"Troth, an' indade they are,' sez Tim.

"'Thim's good blood, I does be thinkin',' sez the squireen.

"'Sorra betther to be found anywhere,' sez Tim.

"'I beg yer pardin, 'tis standin' ye are the while,' sez the ould jintleman. 'Will ye take a sate on the ottimin?'

"'Sure, 'tisn't the grand Turkey ye mane?' sez Tim, gettin' frikened.

"'Oh no,' sez the ould jintleman; ''tis the fine flahool stool standin' forenenst ye.'

"'Ayeh!' sez Tim. 'The ould name's the betther.'

"May be so,' sez the squireen, puttin' on his specktickles, an' starin' at Tim as if he wor a wild baste. An' sorry I am to tell ye that purty Miss Norah likewise hadn't no betther manners, but set starin' too at the bouchal wid her great black eyes.

"'What's the matther?' sez Tim, as red as a b'iled lobsther. 'Isn't it all right?'

"'How will I know?' sez the squireen.

"'Och! och!' sez Tim, 'why did I make a "behay" of myself? Blessin's on yer darlin' face!' sez he, turnin' to Miss Norah; 'an' may goodness purtect ye! an' the daisies grow up under yer purty feet! an' may all the fairies in Ireland bring good luck to ye, an' a dale of it! But oh, be pl'ased to take pity on a poor boy as is quite dumbfounder'd at yer b'utyful countenance, and burnt into ashes by the blaze from yer eyes! An' now don't be afther colloguing wid the ould man that a way, an' I kep' in the dark, like Shaun Dooley, the blind fiddler.'

"'Indade, an' in throth, 'tis very mystharious,' sez Miss Norah, whisperin' to the fadher. ''Tisn't the first ha'porth of manners the crayther has. Sure I am I'll not like him, any way.'

"'L'ave him to me,' sez the ould man. 'May be he's betther nor he seems. Get ye gone, acushla, an' ordher Michael to bring up a pitcher of st'amin' hot potheen; that's the raal stuff to bring out a man's charackther. Misther Sullivan,' sez he, as the daughther disapp'ared--'Misther Sullivan'----

"'Delaney, av ye pl'ase,' sez Tim.

"'I beg yer pardin, Misther Delaney Sullivan. May I be so bould, an' m'anin' no offince, as to be axin' ye what makes ye carry all thim goold chains, an' the han'some goold watch, an' the dimont pin, in sich a sthrange way?'

"'Oh,' sez Tim, mightily relaved, an' pokin' the ould man for fun undher the fifth rib, ''tis there ye are! Sure, 'tis raisonable,' sez he, 'a young jintleman should folly the fashi'ns.'

"'Oh,' sez the squireen, 'an' thim's the fashi'ns, is they?'

"'What 'u'd they be good for, if they worn't?' sez Tim.

"'Faix, nothin' at all, I b'lieve,' sez the squireen. 'Whin did ye l'ave home, Misther Sullivan?' sez he.

"'Delaney, av ye pl'ase.'

"'Blur an' agars!' sez the ould man, 'don't I know that, Misther Delaney Sullivan?'

"'Well,' sez Tim to hisself, ''tis no matther. Any way, I'll be kilt an' transported, whin Masther Maurice comes. Sure, if he will parsist in callin' me Sullivan, 'tisn't good manners to conthradict him.'

"'An' how did ye l'ave the family?' sez the squireen.

"'Well an' hearty,' sez Tim; 'wid no sarious disordher, barrin' the loss of a suckin' pig wid the maisles.'

"'A suckin' pig in the family!' sez the ould man. 'A suckin' pig, did ye say? Sure, thim's not human.'

"'Och! what'll I be sayin' wid the grate blisther on my tongue? Sure, tworn't any pig at all, at all. 'Twas the babby wid the shmallpox.'

"'The shmallpox!' shrieks the squireen. 'Oh, be aff wid ye! Don't come a near me! I'm frikened to death a'ready!'

"'Millia murther!' sez Tim. 'I'll be beside myself prisintly. I don't mane the shmallpox, nor the childher. Where 'u'd they come from, I'd like to know? But the docther--no, I don't mane that--the masther--no, not the masther--the weeny. Arrah, botherashin to me, I'd be obleeged to ye if ye'd tell me what I mane; for, 'deed an' 'deed, the beauty of the young lady has put the comether on my sinses enthirely!'

"'Faix, I b'lieve so,' sez the squireen. 'But here comes the potheen,' sez he; 'an' 'tis the sovre'nst thing in the wureld for a crooked tongue.'

"'Mostha, but it's the raal stuff, too!' sez Tim, takin' a long pull at the noggin, an' smackin' his lips.

"'An' so ye left the ould folk quite well?' sez the squireen.

"'Brave an' hearty,' sez Tim. 'The ould man wor br'akin' stones to mend the pike wid, an' the ould mother wor knittin' new heels to an ould pair of Connemara stockin's.'

"'I'm t'undhersthruck!' sez Misther O'Brien. To think that the blood of the Sullivans should demane thimselves by br'akin' stones for a road an' patchin' stockin's!'

"'Thim's figgers of spache,' sez Tim. 'Sure, I mane shuperintindin' of thim.'

"'Throth, it's hard to tell what ye mane, Misther Delaney Sullivan,' sez the squireen. 'A young jintleman as is college-bred shouldn't condiscend to quare figgers the likes o' thim. An' now I'll be pl'ased to have a taste of yer larnin'.'

"'Sure, it 'u'd nayther be dacent, nor proper, nor expadient, in one of my birth an' breedin', to show off my parts upon a jintleman of your wondherful sagashity. The natheral modesty that is the predominatin' trait in my charackther won't let me. Thim as is my aquils has acknowledged my shupariority; an' the masther hisself couldn't folly me in the langwidges, an' the humanities, an' in single an' double fluckshins, to say nothing of my extinsive ackwiremints in algebrayickal mattymattocks, an' the other parts of profane histhory of a similar cognashus charackther.'

"'Spake plainer,' sez the squireen, 'for ye does be puzzlin' me wid the hard words as seems to have no sinse in 'em.'

"'I'd be bothered to find it if they did,' sez Tim, slyly, to hisself. But he sez to the squireen, sez he, 'How will I diffinitively expurgate the profound m'anin' of the anshint frelosophers widout smudherin' ye wid the classicalities? Isn't it the big words as makes the l'arnin'? Axin' yer pardin, Misther O'Brien, but 'tis well beknownst to a jintleman of your exthraordinary mintal an' quizzical fackilties that the consthruction of the words consthitutes the differ of langwidges, of which pothooks an' hangers is the ilimints.'

"'Bedad, but there's some thruth in that,' sez the squireen, 'barrin' the manner of expressin' it.'

"'Arrah, thin,' sez Tim, 'I'm pl'ased to hear ye say so; an', if it's agreeable to yees, we'll dhrop the discourse for the prisint. To tell ye the blessed thruth, Misther O'Brien, 'tis dead bate wid the long thravel I am, an', wid your permission, I'll be bould to throuble yer sarvint to fling me a clane lock o' sthraw in one corner of yer honor's kitchen for the night.'

"Oh, but may be the ould squireen didn't stare at Tim wid all his eyes in raal arnest, thin--

"'Sthraw!' sez he. 'Do ye take this for a boccoch's shealin'? Well, I must say, Misther Delaney Sullivan,' sez he, 'that, for a jintleman's son, born an' brid, 'tis monsthrous quare ways ye have.' An', wid that, he rings for the futman, an' tells him to show Tim to bed. 'I'll be wantin', Misther Sullivan, to spake the sarious word wid ye the morrow morn,' sez the ould man, dhrawin' hisself up grand like; 'for, on my conscience, there's many things about ye as does be puzzlin' me exthramely.'

"''Tis no matther,' sez Tim to hisself, follyin' afther the sarvint. 'Sure, I'm in for it now, anyhow. Ayeh! is thim the stairs? Musha, thin, but 'tis wide enough they are for a drove of fat cattle. Hould on a bit, will ye, or I'll be fallin' over the ballisthers. I wonder where thim crass passiges lades too beyant? Sure, I'd give all I'll be like to have in the wureld to quit the place. Och, Tim Delaney, 'tis a bad ind ye're comin' to wid settin' yerself up for a jintleman; an', begorra, if the young masther murdhers ye enthirely, it sarves ye right, any way, an' that's no lie.'

"'Will ye be pl'ased to inter?' sez the sarvint, throwin' open the dure of a big room, where the windys wor all ornaminted wid b'utyful curt'ins, an' likewise the grate bed wid goold angels at the corners of the posts, lettin' alone the fringes an' the tassels, an' many other b'utyful things too tadious to mintion.

"'Och,' sez Tim, 'is that my bid? How will I git in widout tumblin' myself on the flure? Thim steps, did ye mane? Arrah, now, have done wid yer nonsince! Sure, I niver heard of goin' to bid wid a step-laddher afore.'

"'Thim's the fashi'n,' sez the futman.

"'To the divil wid the fashi'n!' sez Tim. 'What are ye laughin' at, ye ugly spalpeen? L'ave the light, an' go. Oh, murther!' sez Tim, whin he was all alone by hisself. 'If I wor out of this scrape, a thousand goold guineas wouldn't timpt me to do the likes agin.'

"An', wid that, he sarches the windys, manein' to make his escape, but they wor too high; an' thin he opens the dure saftly an' looks into the passiges, but they twisted all about, so he didn't dare to thry thim for fear they would be afther takin' him for a robber; so, wid many muttherin's an' moanin's, he lays hisself down on the bid wid all his clothes on, an', by an' by, falls into a throubled sleep.

"Well, all this time, ye may be sure young Masther Maurice wor not lettin' the grass grow undher his feet. So, whin he had bought the land, he takes a fresh baste an' hurries afther Tim. By hard ridin' he got to the town late that same night; an', whin he l'arned that Tim wor gone up to Carrigathroid all cock-a-hoop in his own fine clo'es an' jooels, he flies into a tearin' passion, and makes bould to ride over at wanst. As it happened, the squireen an' Miss Norah wor still up, for the raal genteels do kape mighty late hours; and so it worn't long afore he makes hisself beknownst to the ould jintleman an' his daughther, an' up an' tells 'em his sthory. Oh, but thin they all laughed more nor iver they did in their born days afore; more by token that the squireen wor glad to have a disilushin of the mysthery, an' Miss Norah bein' aiquilly pl'ased to find the thrue Masther Maurice wid the best quality manners, an', at the same time, so mortial han'some.

"'An' now,' sez Maurice, 'what'll I do wid that rogue of a Tim?'

"'L'ave him to me,' sez the squireen, wid a knowin' wink. 'Myself bein' a justus-o'-p'ace, a good frikenin' 'll be of sarvice to the saucy Omadhaun. But we'll say no more till the morn,' sez he; 'an', in the mane time, we'll thry an' find ye a supper an' a bed.'

"Well, to be sure, bright an' airly, while Tim wor tossin' an' tumblin' about in his fine flahool bid, an' dhramin' of witches, an' spooks, an' leprawhauns, an' even of the ould bouchal hisself, there's comes a t'undherin' whack at his dure; an', prisintly, in walks four sthrappin' fellows right to his bedside.

"'What's wantin'?' sez Tim, settin' boult up, wid his curly hair all untwistin' itself an' standin' on end like a porkepine's. 'Is it lookin' for me ye are?'

"'Troth, but ye're a quick hand at guessin',' sez the biggest man. 'Where's yer masther, ye thafe of the wureld? Tell me that.'

"'Oh, murther!' sez Tim. 'It's all out!'

"'Sure, he confisses it a'ready,' sez another. 'Bring him along, Tony.'

"'Confisses what?' sez Tim, wid his face as white as the bed-hangin's. 'Confisses what? Spake out, will ye?'

"'The murther!' sez Tony. 'Isn't thim his clo'es ye're wearin' now?'

"'Murther? Och! ochone! ochone!' sez Tim, wringin' his hands. 'That I iver lived to see this day! An' is the young masther dead? Why, thin, upon my oath an' my conscience, I niver had a hand in it! Sure, 'tis well the darlin' knowed I'd lay down my life for him. Oh, jintlemen, take pity on a poor innocent boy that's in the black throuble, an' all bekase he put on the young masther's things for a bit of spoort!'

"'An' a purty spoort ye'll find it,' sez the futman, for be sure he wor one of thim. 'But here comes Misther O'Brien.'

"'Stand aside, all of yees, an' let me look at the thraitor!' sez the squireen, burstin' into the room. 'Oh, 'tis there ye are, ye villin, wid yer mattymattox an' yer single an' double fluxshins. Saize him, men, wid a sthrong grip, an' bring him to the hall. 'Tis well myself's a magisther, an' can set upon the case at wanst.'

"'Oh, Misther O'Brien,' sez Tim, dhroppin' on his knees, ''tis innocent I am the day! I'll tell ye about it. You see, the young masther an' I'----

"'Isn't thim his clo'es?" sez the squireen.

"'Ayeh, but that's thrue. Let me tell ye, an' hear r'ason. The young masther an' I'----

"'Kape yer sthories to yerself,' sez the squireen, puttin' on a black frown. 'Why would I listen to yer diabolickle invintions whin thim things is witness agin ye? Hould him fast, boys, an' off wid him. May be I won't live to hang him, afther all.'

"'Help! help! murther!' sez Tim, sthrugglin' wid all the power that wor in him. 'I didn't do it! It's clane hands I have! I won't be murthered! L'ave me go, I say! What 'u'd ye hang a poor innocent for? Murther! murther!'

"All at wanst, as he wor skreekin' and kickin', who should walk in from behind the dure but Misther Maurice an' Miss Norah.

"'Whoop! whoroo!' sez Tim. 'There's the young masther now! Hands off wid ye! Don't ye see him wid Miss Norah?'

"'Hould on a minnit, men,' sez the squireen. 'May be 'tis a mistake, afther all. Is that young jintleman Misther Sullivan?'

"'Oh, to be sure it is,' sez Tim. 'Who else 'u'd it be, I'd like to know? Misther Maurice! Maurice, achorra, spake to thim, av ye pl'ase, an' tell thim it's yerself that I see.'

"'Why will I do that?' sez the young jintleman, laughin'. 'Sure, 'twould be wastin' my breath, an' they knowin' it a'ready.'

"'Oh, murther! see that now!' sez Tim. 'An' they a frikenin' me out of my siven sinses all the while. Ayeh! Maurice a vick, but I forgive ye the bad thrick yees played me the day.'

"'Musha, thin, an' thank ye for nothin',' sez Maurice; 'for I does be thinkin' that 'tis yerself, Tim, as is to blame, seein' the fine clo'es on yer back.'

"'Yea, thin,' sez the squireen, burstin' into a great laugh, ''twore hisself, sure enough, as played the bould thrick, an' bothered me all out wid his single an' his double fluxshins; but, bedad, if the thrick wor in his hands last night, sure he'll confiss I trumped it dacently this mornin'.'"

AMOR, VIVAX, FRAGILIS.

BY H. H., M. D.

Oh, love! What is love? 'Tis a tender vine,
Amid shadow and sunshine growing;
In the soft summer hours will its tendrils twine,
To cling when the wild winds are blowing.
Though through calm sunny days it will put forth its bloom,
It is greenest when tears are flowing;
And it climbeth--how mournfully!--oft o'er the tomb,
Gray shadows around it throwing.

The germs its fresh blossoms fling forth to the air
Are wafted, on white wings, to heaven;
Here though it may wither, yet, evergreen there,
A crown unto angels 'tis given!
Then tend it most gently. Though care bids it grow,
And it ever roots deepest in sorrow,
Yet the love that to-day smiles o'er dreariest woe,
Neglected, may wither to-morrow.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF SHOPPING.

BY MRS. ALARIC WATTS.

The truly lively and excellent Miss Mitford has, in her story of "The Black Velvet Bag," dilated very agreeably on the pleasures of the feminine occupation of Shopping! She has made its charms obvious to the meanest capacity; nay, more candid still, she has afforded us, now and then, a glimpse of its many pleasant delusions. She is, throughout, the busy, intelligent actor in this everyday drama of domestic life. She has admitted us fully and fairly to her confidence, from the preliminary "Inventory of Wants," with its accompaniment of a full purse, to the _finale_ of a full budget and an empty exchequer!

Let not the above admission (honestly made), however, induce any one to suppose that the subject must necessarily be exhausted. On the contrary, she has not even alluded, in the remotest degree, to that which I hold to be its chief delight--its crowning glory; namely, the harvest of enjoyment which its many phases present to the inactive, though not uninterested, spectator of its whereabout.

"I _do_ wish that you would lay aside your work, and accompany me in a round of shopping," was the opening address of an early morning visitor. "I really have so many commissions to execute that it would be an act of charity to afford me the benefit of your good taste and excellent judgment!"

Who could resist a request so flatteringly preferred? The work was laid aside, and the request complied with on the instant; and within a quarter of an hour we were set down at the first stage of our pleasant expedition.

The _magazin_ that was honored by our selection on the present occasion held a middle rank between the aristocratic pretensions of Howell and James's, and the honest _bourgeois_ reputation of Tottenham House! My friend was of that class of elegant economists who go to the fountain-head for the sample, and to the principal stream for the supply. The initiated will be at no loss to decide that Swan and Edgar's was our mart.

As I was not a principal on the present occasion, the _pas_ was, of course, assumed by my companion. On the moment of our entrance, offers of services were obsequiously proffered, and, to my great surprise, were as courteously evaded. My friend was a tactician, and, fully alive to her own infirmity, was not so rash as to venture on an unproved agent. Former experience had revealed to her on whose head the organ of patience was most largely developed, and as its possessor happened to be engaged, my friend, like a wise general, was content to forego a present convenience, in order to secure a future advantage. She, therefore, intimated that she preferred being waited on by Miss A., and added, she was quite content to await her leisure on the present occasion.

The martyr-like expression of Miss A.'s countenance gave place to one of great complacency, the result, perhaps, of the 'compliment implied by her selection, since it must have been gratifying to feel that merit is _sometimes_ appreciated; and no one can deny that, among the virtues, Patience has always ranked as a cardinal!

A few minutes sufficed to surround us with silks and satins, ribbons and velvets; a few more were consumed in the discussion of "the unusual prevalence" of "flat colors" and "neutral tints," together with conjectures as to the duration of this sombre mode, which soon gave place to the important business before us. My friend became serious and oracular; murmured of "harmony and contrast;" and, in the words of our divine Milton--

"With dispatchful looks in haste
She turns on (_most becoming_) thoughts intent,
What choice to choose, for delicacy best,
What order to contrive, as not to mix
Hues not well joined, inelegant; but bring
Shade after shade upheld by kindliest change."

She was fairly in her vocation, and I, well assured that an hour or two would elapse before my "good taste" would be in requisition, proceeded to solace my leisure by watching the sayings and doings of my neighbors of the opposite counter.

"Do you happen to have anything new for dresses?" was the first inquiry of a pair of languid-looking young ladies, evidently afflicted with a certain quantity of money and of time to be disposed of. "We want something very odd and very new." The shopman inquired of "price and texture." At this leading question the ladies looked aghast. "Oh! they did not know; only they wanted something very odd and very pretty--something that had never been seen by anybody else." And with this luminous description, the young man departed; and, after an interval of short duration, returned, followed by two subordinates bending beneath the weight of silk, wool, and cotton, and of patterns the most diverse and strange. Nondescripts of a genus botanical, flowers without stalks, and stalks without flowers. Others of the style geometrical--angles, acute and obtuse; circles, and segments of every size. A few presented strata of every sombre hue, forcibly reminding the spectator of geology and Dr. Lyell! The young ladies were more than satisfied: where all was so exquisitely "odd," the difficulty of choice was proportionably increased. They selected and rejected, and finally, embarrassed by the riches before them, ordered a dozen to be sent home for further consideration, and the final decision of mamma!

Our fair young friends were scarcely seated in their carriage, when their places were taken by a middle-aged lady of a very different stamp, who, emerging from one of the suburban omnibuses, bustled into the shop "and begged to be attended to immediately, as her time was precious." No one could look upon her and doubt it. That imposing character--a thoroughly good manager--was revealed in every word and gesture. There was decision in her voice, her step, her eye; no need had she of written memoranda to help a slippery memory. Her orders were issued with distinctness, clearness, and precision. "She desired to see some lady's four-thread fine white cotton stockings, without figure and without clocks; some lady's dark French kid habit gloves, sewed with silk of the same color, with studs at the wrist; some Irish linen (described with equal minuteness); graduated tapes, and assorted pins." Here was discrimination; no causeless second journey did thoughtlessness on her part impose on any one. The pieces of linen were opened, wetted, rubbed, and finally a thread was loosened, to test the strength of the fabric. The gloves were singly stretched across the hand, and finally the stockings were separated and turned inside out, that their quality might be ascertained beyond a doubt. I fancied the shopman winced a little at the latter experiment; but who could gainsay that quiet decision of manner which so plainly announced "I pay for what I have, and choose to have the best for my money"? A pencil was quietly drawn forth--a name written by the lady on each separate article. The bill was carefully examined--found correct--paid, and with a final chink of the purse, and strict orders as to time in the delivery of the parcel, the lady departed; and I could not help thinking we all breathed with more freedom when relieved of the presence of this very superior woman.

An interesting family group were the next to present themselves in the persons of a beautiful widow lady, perhaps of some five-and-thirty years of age; a sister, some ten years younger; a blooming miss in her teens, and a delicate-looking little boy of some five years old.

Of this party the younger ladies assumed the executive, and requested to see some dresses for second mourning. The counter forthwith groaned under the weight of silks and stuffs,

"Black, blue, and gray, with all their trumpery;"

and really the variety was so great that the office of selection seemed far from an easy one. The younger ladies were in high spirits, and proceeded to canvass the peculiar merit of each article with great energy. There certainly is something very attractive in unsunned fabrics, even though they appertain not to ourselves. I felt quite interested in the debate, and when the discussion became warm, on the comparative merits of French gray or French lavender, I could hardly forbear from offering a casting vote on the subject.

Meantime the person most interested in the decision sat by silent and abstracted, her eyes fixed on the face of the boy--her thoughts probably in the tomb of her husband. At length it became necessary to make a selection. The lady was appealed to. She seemed as though awaking from a dream, and, glancing at the shining heaps before her, said, "Too gay, much too gay." Her sister, in a low voice, appeared to expostulate with her, for the words "two whole years" were distinctly audible. The animated look of the little girl became subdued as she gazed on her mother's face. She pushed aside the brighter colors and drew some black silk over them, and was silent. Not so, however, her aunt! She had evidently resolved that the children at least should mourn no longer; with a tone of authority she desired the lavender silk to be cut off, and with a look of mingled pity and contempt heard her sister order another "Paramatta." Too indignant to interfere further, she contented herself with adding "and crape, I suppose." The lady did not reply--the shopman, probably inferring her wishes from her silence, produced the anathematized material, a liberal quantity was cut off, and the party slowly retired.

A merry-eyed, dandyfied-looking young sailor, with a complexion much bronzed beneath a fervid sun, was the next member of the _dramatis personæ_. He desired to see some silk pocket-handkerchiefs; India silk--no other would do. A variety was placed before him, together with some of British manufacture, greatly superior to the veritable Bandanas! It might be so--they were more beautiful, certainly; but India handkerchiefs he must have--ay, and with the true peculiar spicy smell; that odor only to be acquired by a four months' voyage in company with cinnamon and sandal-wood. After a little delay, even this desideratum was achieved. A dozen were cut off, each folded in a separate paper, and each and every one directed by his own hand! During this ceremony, a very contagious smile irradiated his features, which, gathering strength with every name he wrote, finally exploded into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Grave people turned round to stare and frown; and the youth, rather abashed by the sound of his own laugh, murmured something in an apologetic tone, and, hastily paying for his purchase, quitted the shop. There was something odd in all this. At length the truth flashed on my mind. The youth had just returned from India, and was gifted with a goodly train of unreasonable cousins, all of whom "had expected some trifle from the Land of the East." Poor fellow!--as though a hundred a year were a greater fortune in Hindoostan than in England, or self-denial a whit easier of practice on the banks of the Ganges than the banks of the Thames. At length, his means admitting of a partial satisfaction of his expectants, he had taken the only means in his power to amend his short-comings. Poor fellow!--may his pious fraud meet with a rich harvest of gratitude; and, above all, may he have wit enough to keep his own counsel!

For a few minutes the little stage that had afforded me so much interest was vacant. It was, however, shortly filled by a group well calculated to afford

"A bright atonement for the brief delay."

It consisted of a lady of some five-and-forty years, with face and figure well preserved; and which, though lacking the delicacy of youth, was redeemed by an expression scarcely less attractive. She took her seat with a quiet dignity of manner--the result, I fancied, rather of a well-balanced mind than of conventional attainment. She was accompanied by a pretty sentimental girl of about eighteen, a brisk little maiden of twelve, buoyant with delight at having escaped the school-room at an unwonted hour, and a staid-looking Young Person, probably a dependent cousin.

The party seated themselves with some regard to personal comfort, as though their business was likely to be of some duration. Their commands were, the indispensables of a lady's outfit. During this period, the young lady looked on with a kind of lofty indifference, and, when appealed to, gravely declined interference, leaving the matter to be arranged by the lady mother and the useful cousin. These affairs satisfactorily adjusted, the externals were next in demand. The smile of the child betrayed the secret--they were purchasing the _trousseau_ of a bride. In vain was the sentimentalist appealed to in the articles of handkerchiefs and gloves--she was cold, polite, but indifferent. This I thought strange, till I remembered she was a _fiancée_, almost as good as a married lady already, and had therefore some dignity to sustain. At length the brilliant externals were spread before her. What young lady of eighteen could maintain the appearance of indifference? It was not in nature--not in female nature. The statue descended from its pedestal; entered quietly and gracefully into the details before it; made selections with the taste of an artist and knowledge of a woman of fashion (two qualities rarely combined); bought various trifles adapted for presents, and would have chosen as many more had not mamma held up a banker's check! The warning was understood--one and ninepence was received in change of a bill of one hundred pounds--and still they lingered. The bride elect had a purchase of her own to make. A shawl--a good, but not a fine one--was selected and paid for by herself, and presented, with a kind pressure of the hand (which would elsewhere have been a kiss), to the useful cousin. The carriage drew up, and the party retired in search of the millinery elsewhere!

Scarcely was the seat of honor vacated by the bridal party, when it was filled by another matron and her fair daughter; but no comfortable carriage set her down--no obsequious footman ushered her into Messrs. Swan and Edgar's emporium. The lady before me--for she was a lady, despite her russet gown and plain straw bonnet--had originally been as richly gifted by nature as her predecessor; but care, not time, had evidently wrought its ravages on her countenance. She looked faded and worn, took her seat with an air of embarrassment, and with a slight nervousness of manner asked to speak with "one of the principals of the establishment." During the brief interval previous to his arrival, her countenance underwent many changes, as though she were nerving herself for some painful effort. The arrival of the official, however, at once restored her self-possession. With a calm, sweet voice, she stated her business. She said she was the wife of a naval officer of limited means about to emigrate, and wished to make rather an extensive purchase, but that, as under such circumstances quantity rather than fashion was the object of her attainment, she desired to know if she could be thus supplied on terms of advantage? The reply was in the affirmative, and, with a delicacy of feeling that did honor to the speaker, he himself superintended her commission. He felt instinctively that he was addressing a gentlewoman in the best sense of the term; as much material was paid for by a fifty pound note as would have clad a dozen people. The fearful plunge once over, the manner of the lady became more assured, her daughter looked fairer than ever, and I felt, despite the frowns of fortune, she was an enviable woman.

How much, how very much, said I to myself, are the unavoidable evils of life felt, when (as in the present instance) they fall to the lot of one gifted with the step-dame dower of acute sensibility. To such the privations of poverty are far less galling than the ever-present dread of the "proud man's contumely." To minds thus constituted, misfortune feels like crime, and nothing short of the wisdom that is from above can enable its possessor to bear the burthen unrepiningly. I looked upon the lady before me, and felt, despite the lowly attire and faded form, that of the many whose riddle I had read, she was to me the heroine of the day.

The present was forgotten; my mind had travelled to scenes beyond the Atlantic. Already had I

"Built them a bower,
Where stern pride hath no power,
And the fear of to-morrow their bliss could not mar."

Should the brave lieutenant, the beau cousin of that sweet girl, accompany them? Or should the handsome curate follow after? I had not decided the matter, when I was cruelly aroused from my delightful reverie, to decide, where no difference was, between two rival satins of the purest white, and after exercising much ingenuity in discovering the favorite of my friend, I boldly declared for the opposite candidate, maintained my opinion with very becoming pertinacity, and at length gradually and graciously suffered myself to be convinced; and again in the words of Milton I admitted her choice to be

"Wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best."

The principal business of the day being thus happily accomplished, we resolved to leave the rest till to-morrow, and returned home mutually charmed with each other. My friend had labored diligently in her vocation, to engraft her own good taste on half a dozen dowdy cousins, whilst I retired to fill another page in the note-book of a day-dreamer.

GODEY'S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

Drawing has been generally looked upon as an accomplishment, not considered as an essential--as ornamental rather than indispensable in the education of the rising generation. The pleasures and advantages of its pursuit have been almost solely enjoyed by the rich; while they have been, to a certain extent, as a sealed book to the great majority of those now designated emphatically the people. So far from looking upon a knowledge of the art of drawing as necessary merely to the artist or designer, we hold that it should form an essential part of general education; that its proper place is in the daily school; that its principles and practice should be inculcated in the daily lessons; in short, that equally with reading or writing, drawing should be deemed one of the branches of everyday tuition. We are now fully alive to the importance of cultivating what are designated "habits of taste," and the appreciation of the beautiful in art; and this chiefly--if for nothing else--from the practical value derivable therefrom in the improvement of our arts and manufactures. By a thorough understanding of the details of drawing, an accuracy of perception and a facility for marking and retaining forms and arrangements are readily available. It is, then, of importance to place within the reach of all a means by which the art in its varied branches may be easily communicated. The design of the present article is to contribute to this desideratum. We shall make our remarks as plain as possible, and as concise as the nature of the subject will admit of; and shall give unsparingly well-digested illustrations, believing that in this subject, at least, much is to be imparted to the pupil through the medium of the eye. It is to be hoped that this union of the pen with the pencil will be of great utility in quickly imparting a knowledge of the subjects under discussion. Before proceeding to our more immediate purpose, we shall offer a few remarks elucidatory of the plan or bearing of the system, by which we mean to be guided in presenting the requisite knowledge to the student.

On the supposition that the pupil at the outset is utterly ignorant of the art, we commence our instructions by elucidating FIRST PRINCIPLES. As all drawings are reducible to certain lines and figures, we hold it necessary to enable the student to draw these elementary parts with the utmost facility; leading him, by a series of examples, from the drawing of a simple line up to the most complicated sketch or object which may be offered to him; and then, by an advance to the more intricate rules, making plain the laws of vision (the foundation of perspective), so as to delineate correctly the various views in which they may be presented to his notice; the aim of the introductory lessons being to enable the student thoroughly to understand the reason why every operation is performed as directed, not merely to give him a facility for copying any determined object without reference to principles.