Chapter X (2)

ARTIFICIAL PEARLS.--The art of making artificial pearls has been brought to such perfection in Paris, that even jewellers and pawnbrokers have occasionally had a difficulty in deciding between the artificial and the real. The origin of this successful imitation is given as follows: A French bead-maker named Jaquin, observing that when the small fish called _ablette_, or bleak (_Cyprinus alburnus_), was washed, the water was filled with fine silver-colored particles, collected some of these for the purposes of his trade. He found that the soft shining powder thus obtained had, to a remarkable degree, the lustre of pearls; hence, he called it essence of pearl, or _essence d'orient_. He first made small beads of gypsum and covered them with this substance; they were greatly admired and eagerly sought after; but it was found that this pearly coat, when exposed to heat, separated itself from the bead, and attached itself to the skin of the wearer in a manner that was anything but pleasant. The ladies themselves, it is said, suggested to Jaquin the making of hollow glass beads, and covering the inside with essence of pearl. This he did, and established a manufacture, of which some idea may be gained by the following account. Slender tubes of glass are first prepared, called _girasols_, a term applied to opal, and sometimes to the stone called cat's-eye, and given to these tubes because the glass is of a peculiar bluish tint. From these the artist blows minute globules, to the extent of from two to six thousand per day, not caring to make them all perfectly regular or free from blemish, because the natural pearls are not so. The pearl essence is then mixed with a solution of isinglass, and is blown while hot into each bead by means of a fine glass pipe. The solution is spread equally over the whole internal surface, by shaking the pearls in a vessel placed over the table where the workman sits, and to which he gives motion by his foot. When the varnish is equally diffused and dry, the beads are filled with white wax; this gives them the necessary weight and solidity, and renders them less fragile. They are then bored with a needle, and threaded on strings for sale. The holes in the finer sort are lined with thin paper, that the thread may not adhere to the wax.

To produce one pound of scales no fewer than 4,000 fishes are required; but this quantity of scales only yields four ounces of pearl essence. The fish are about four inches long; they are sold at a cheap rate in the markets after being deprived of their scales. The value of a pound of washed scales in the Chalonnais is from fifteen to twenty-five livres. The early manufacturers suffered great inconvenience from not knowing how to preserve the scales from putrefaction, and consequently being obliged to use the essence immediately it was obtained, lest it should acquire the intolerable odor of decayed fish. Attempts were made to preserve them in spirit of wine or brandy, but those liquors wholly destroyed their lustre. At length it was discovered that these fishy particles can be kept for a long time in solution of ammonia, and this enables the manufacturers of artificial pearls to carry on a considerable traffic with distant places where the fish is plentiful, the supply from the Seine, though abundant, being insufficient for the purposes of the trade of Paris. Down to a late period, the heirs of M. Jaquin continued to manufacture pearls to a considerable extent, in the Rue de Petit Lion, at Paris. An elaborate account of this art is given by De Beost, in a work entitled, "_L'Art d'imiter les Perles fines_," from which most English descriptions of this manufacture have been obtained.

In a recent number of the "Journal of the Society of Arts," it was stated that an "oyster, or rather a mussel, of the species known to naturalists as the _mya margaritifera_, in which the artificial pearls are formed by the Chinese, had recently been sent to England. These pearls are only obtained near Ning-po, and until lately very little was known of the manner in which they were formed; and the account first published by Sir Joseph Banks was generally questioned. The _Hermes_ steamer, however, on a late visit to that place, was able to obtain several live ones, in which, on being opened, several pearls, as many as eighteen or twenty, were found in the course of formation. The one sent only contains simple pearls adhering to the shell. It appears they are formed by introducing some pieces of wood or baked earth into the animal while alive, which, irritating it, causes it to cover the extraneous substance with a pearly deposit. Little figures made of metal are frequently introduced, and, when covered with the deposit, are valued by the Chinese as charms. These figures generally represent Buddha in the sitting position, in which that image is most frequently portrayed. Several specimens have, it is said, been preserved alive in spirits, and others slightly opened, so as to show the pearls."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 10: Dr. Faraday found that, by first exhausting the lungs by several deep exhalations, so as to expel the carbonic acid, and then taking a deep inspiration of fresh air, he was able to hold his breath for two minutes and a half.]

ILLUMINATED, OR VELLUM-PAINTING.

AS it is the duty of a faithful journalist not only to "hit the follies of the day," but to study the tastes of the times, we have now ventured to make a few remarks on an art which has of late been revived, and which is now not only much practised as an accomplishment, but widely diffused as a means of general ornamentation. A slight sketch of its history will perhaps form a not unacceptable introduction to our subject.

It would appear that the metallic portions, and the general idea of illuminated painting, have been familiar to Oriental nations for ages; numberless traces of it, as applied to decorative purposes, having been discovered among those memorials now existing of the early Persian, Arabian, and Moorish races. The Egyptians, too, appear to have possessed the art of adding burnished gold or silver to their paintings; but whether they ever thus ornamented manuscripts is not known to us--in all probability they did not. Neither do the more ancient inhabitants of Italy appear to have applied it to manuscripts, for none of those discovered amid the ruins of the buried cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii are illuminated.

Many writers have surmised that manuscripts were not thus decorated until they began to assume something of the folio form; certainly, we are not aware of any traces of illuminating having been found in those rolled manuscripts which have descended to us. "The Dioscorides" in the Library of Vienna, and the celebrated copy of "Virgil" in the Vatican at Rome--both of which are supposed to date back so far as the fourth century--are believed to be the oldest examples of illuminated MSS. extant; and these can scarcely claim to be termed illuminated, for they only differ from ordinary manuscripts in having colored capitals. It is not until the seventh century that we find this art practised in any part of Great Britain; and then, in its earliest form, it simply consisted in staining the vellum purple or rose color, or inscribing the characters in gold. In the British Museum is a splendid MS., termed the "Golden Gospels," supposed to date from about the eighth century; its text is entirely of gold. There are some beautiful decorations in this valuable and curious relic of the patience, industry, and artistic powers of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors. There is another illuminated manuscript copy of the Gospels in the Archiepiscopal Library at Lambeth Palace, supposed to be nine hundred years old, and to have been painted by Moelbrigid Mac Durnan, Abbot of Derry, for Athelstan, who presented it to the city of Canterbury.

In those early ages, illuminating was applied only to religious and devotional MSS.; and it was chiefly done by members of the religious orders, for a very good reason--that they appear to have been almost the sole depositories of what learning and fine arts then existed. The celebrated St. Dunstan is said to have been a skilful illuminator, and is represented, in one of the pictures of an old manuscript, as busily at work decorating a missal.

The earlier specimens of illuminating which have descended to us are mostly crude and simple, consisting chiefly of colored capitals, stained ground, and metallic letters. For several ages the art does not appear to have made much progress, except that the capital letters increase in size, in ornament and beauty; and about the twelfth century we find them assuming a gigantic height, abounding in florid development, gorgeous in hues, and often exquisite in execution. In the early part of the fourteenth century an alteration is perceptible--the MS. pages assume an illuminated border, which at first only passes down one side, but gradually extends along the top and the bottom of the page; and, after a lapse of years, constitutes a complete frame to the text.

These borders at first consist simply of foliage or scrolls; but, as the art improves, and doubtless is more fostered and patronized, arabesques are introduced, in which forms of marvellous grace and beauty, linked in inextricable twinings, shine forth in all the gorgeous hues of a brilliant sunset; and these are, at a later period, gemmed with medallions or miniature paintings, illustrative of portfolios of the text. Indeed, several of the most celebrated painters of those days did not disdain to enrich MSS. for some high personage with specimens of their artistic skill. This continued until the middle of the sixteenth century.

Subsequently, a progressive decline in the excellence and artistic beauty of illuminated painting becomes very evident. It is true that, in the middle of the seventeenth century, it was florid, gorgeous, and, to a certain degree, admirable, but it was not the beauty of art; the rococo taste was beginning to dawn--that strange exuberance of fancy which heaped in one mass the most incongruous details, and was often more cumbrous and grotesque than graceful and harmonious. Nor was it probably only to this cause that the decline in the art may be attributed--the introduction of printing, and its gradual diffusion, had made manuscripts less valuable. The Reformation also, doubtless, had its share in depreciating illuminated painting, which soon ceased to be practised to any extent--excepting in Catholic countries--for the decoration of missals.

Then comes a period of some hundred or hundred and fifty years, during which the art may almost be said to be extinct; nor is it until within the last ten or twenty years that it has received much attention. Then, when lithographic printing, and various similar improvements, facilitated the reproduction of an indefinite number of copies of any given subject, and the still further invention of color-printing and chromo-lithography came into exercise, the value of a study of illuminated painting was perceived, and its applicability to all purposes of literary ornamentation developed. The title-pages of albums, of music, and of annuals; the covers of magazines and books; the initial letters of articles in periodicals; the decorations on circulars, cards, labels, and numberless other similar productions, whether printed, colored, gilded, or stamped--all will be found more or less derivable from the old style of illuminated manuscripts; indeed, a person who has not studied it can form little idea how largely its principles enter into all this kind of decorations.

It has been said that this branch of the art of painting is so mechanical as to be easily taught in a few lessons to those who have no previous knowledge of drawing. This we cannot fully admit. It is true such persons may acquire a smattering of the art--a crude, inartistic style of working it; but, unless they have a correct eye, good taste, and some judgment, they cannot achieve anything that will not betray the amateur.

It is by no means an easy matter to give practical written instructions for illuminated painting on vellum; for it is not merely directions as to what materials shall be used, and the mode of employing them, that are required, but principles for general guidance which have to be inculcated. The desired effects cannot be produced by a heterogeneous assemblage of forms and colors, but only by careful and artistic combinations of the appropriate and the harmonious.

In the matter of letters, allegorical letters, suitable to the subject they are to commence, may be obtained by arranging animals, fishes, reptiles, &c. &c., into the requisite forms.

Fig. 1 represents an L adapted for a paper on botany.

For those who may wish to paint from these cuts, we state that the leaves are of sap-green, shaded with Prussian green, and just touched at the tips with gold; the small ones are more delicately tinted than the others.

Fig. 2 is a T adapted for a paper on woods or forest trees. It is painted in Vandyke brown, and shaded with black, and the leaves and ground are green.

In an old MS. at the British Museum, the human form is most oddly contorted into grotesque semblances of capital letters. An initial for a paper on war may be composed of armor, weapons, &c.

Fig. 3, an S, is suitable for a heroic poem, or romantic tale of chivalry. For agriculture, we form our initial of corn, or the implements of husbandry, and such like; for music, of musical instruments and characteristic ornaments.

The S in the annexed cut is of silver, burnished and wrought (terms which we shall presently explain); the flag is painted in ultramarine, and striped and bordered with silver the spear-headed staff is shaded with Vandyke brown, and its decorations put in with silver.

Fig. 4 is not an allegorical letter, but simply decorative, and adapted for a title-page, rather than an initial. The darker and central parts of the letter are of vermilion, shaded with carmine; and the ornamentation of gold burnished and wrought. The letter in Fig. 5 belongs to the same class, and is only a modification of style; the white ground is merely shaded up with soft touches of carmine. The varieties of letters which can be formed are endless, and may be as quaint and as ideal as fancy can devise, provided they are also appropriate, and do not depart from the gracefully-curved line of beauty.

For illuminated painting we use water-colors; ultramarine, carmine, burnt carmine, burnt sienna, gamboge, deep chrome, vermilion, red-lead, emerald-green, sap-green, Vandyke-brown, lamp-black, and Chinese-white, are those most necessary. Persons who are not already provided with colors will do well to purchase those which are prepared expressly for illuminating, as they are more brilliant. Pure gold, green gold, and silver shells; fine sable hair-pencils, some gum-water, a lead-pencil, H. H. H; some tracing and some transferring paper; and an agate burnisher, which consists of a piece of polished agate, in the shape of a cut pencil, set in a handle; a flat ruler and a tracing pen, are the materials requisite; all of which should be obtained at one of the first-rate artists' color repositories.

Illuminated paintings may be made either on vellum or fine Bristol-board; the vellum is prepared expressly for the purpose, and not that commonly sold; it must be mounted on, or affixed to, a drawing-board (which has previously been covered with cartridge-paper) with artists' glue, before it can be painted on. Great care is requisite in sketching or transferring the outlines to its surface, for it is by no means easy to efface any marks once made; bread is usually more efficacious for this purpose than India-rubber; but, as it must be stale, it can only be used with caution, being likely to scratch or roughen the surface.

In all illuminated drawings the background is more or less ornamented; and this may be done according to the fancy of the artist himself; the leading characteristics of these fundamental ornamentations are delicacy, simplicity, and grace. In the different compartments of Fig. 6, four of the most common patterns are given. They are either put in with a darker shade of the grounding tint, or wrought in gold or silver, or painted in white or black. The straight lines must be firm and even, and equidistant; the curved lines flowing and graceful; the dots or spots all equal in size, and at even distances from the lines and from each other. The upper and lower compartments of this cut are pure gold and green gold, on a black and an ultramarine ground; the right-hand side is grounded with a light tint of emerald-green, and worked over with ornamentation in sap-green; the left-hand compartment is silver, on a delicate blue ground.

This damask pattern (see Fig. 7), which may be enlarged or diminished, is worked in carmine, on a ground of red-lead, or a light tint of vermilion. It is as well to observe that these groundwork patterns are almost always very minute and delicate; and, therefore, should never be traced with a pencil, or the line will show; but must be worked in with a fine sable-hair brush, and the requisite tint, or with a very fine pen, charged with diluted color; but the brush is preferable.

Such ornamentations as those in Figs. 8 and 9 may be worked in on the outer or metallic borders, which frequently surround the chief border. Our readers must not suppose that we profess to give all, or half the forms of decoration used for groundwork in illuminated drawings. We only attempt to sketch those most frequently met with, and which may serve as models of style. Various threefold ornaments—originating, doubtless, in the spirit of that class of men who at first chiefly used this decoration for MSS., and symbolical of the triune nature of the Deity—are frequently observed. In Fig. 10 are two of the most common specimens; the third is a spider-like ornament, also often introduced. Fig. 11 is another simple and common decoration.

THE LAST KISS.

BY JENNY A. M'EWAN.

THE last, the last! it lingers still,
Though weary days have fled,
Though summer's bloom
Is in the tomb,
And autumn's glory dead.

The last, the last! upon my brow
Thy seal of truth is pressed,
And in my heart
Love's echoes start;
Their music ne'er can rest.

The bright, blue heaven is clouded now,
And moans the wintry blast;
Fond memory sighs,
But hope replies,
"That kiss was not the last."

'Tis when I yield my wearied frame
To slumber's magic powers,
By thy dear side,
Thine own loved bride,
I rove through Dreamland's bowers.

Oh, dim are all my earthly joys
To those that greet me there,
And in my dream
It ne'er doth seem
That Heaven can be more fair.

Gray morning breaks o'er yonder hill;
My visions bright are past,
Yet ere they fly,
The spirits sigh,
"Thy dream-kiss was the last!"

When twilight's magic hour draws nigh,
And Thought is roaming free,
When evening's breeze
Sighs through the trees,
Thy spirit comes to me.

Oh, 'tis a holy presence then
That's stealing o'er my breast;
The magic power
Of that sweet hour
Lulls my sad heart to rest.

And on my brow I feel a touch,
A breathing touch of bliss;
The spirit-sigh
Is hovering nigh,
That touch, the spirit-kiss.

'Tis here, 'tis here! I feel it now—
Yes, o'er my heart 'tis cast,
And voices sweet
Once more repeat
"The spirit-kiss is last."

SECRET LOVE.

BY KATE HARRINGTON.

RAISE me gently—gently, sister, that my brow may catch the breeze
Softly gliding through the casement from yon grove of orange-trees;
That mine ear may drink the music gushing forth in mellow lays,
Made by song-birds sweetly warbling their evening hymns of praise;
That mine eye again may wander to the bosom of yon stream,
Where the ripples dance as lightly as young fairies in a dream.

Now bend your ear, my sister, for my life is ebbing fast,
And my heart must tell its secret before the dream is past;
It is all the grief I've cherished that thou hast never known,
For, save this, my thoughts have ever found an echo in thine own.
It were better not to tell thee, but my spirit spurns control,
And the words I would not utter seem escaping from my soul.

Dost thou remember, sister, how in sunny youth we played
On the margin of yon streamlet in the orange branches' shade?
Or, when the evening twilight threw its veil o'er stream and wood,
And we saw the stars grow dizzy and tremble where they stood,
How we twined the pure white blossoms in the ringlets of our hair,
And wondered if the dew-drops would come to nestle _there_?

Hast thou forgotten, sister, life's bright, unclouded spring,
When thy thoughts were just as joyous as wild birds on the wing,
When young Clarence stood beside thee, and the words he dared to speak
Made thy spirit leap for gladness and sent blushes to thy cheek?
I had worshipped him in secret; he knew not my distress,
And in secret I resigned him, but loved thee none the less.

In vain I tried to banish from my crushed and bleeding heart
The image it had cherished long as of itself a part;
My will was weak, for when I came to breathe a sad good-by,
I could not, could not smother on my lips the bursting sigh.
None knew the wild, deep anguish, the torturing pangs of grief,
That closed the fount of feeling and refused a tear's relief.

Thou hast often wondered, sister, why mine eye has lost its light,
Why I've spoken of existence as a gloomy, starless night;
Thou hast sat for days together, and, in accents low, hast told
How thy Clarence soon will hasten from the distant land of gold.
Whene'er his name was mentioned, I have felt a strange, wild thrill;
But I've learned long since, my sister, to suffer and be still.

Nay, weep not; for, believe me, ere awakes yon setting sun
Earth's struggles will be over, and life's conflicts will be done;
My disembodied spirit upon wings of love will rise
To roam with shining seraphs through the realms of Paradise.
My soul is only waiting till the silken cord is riven,
To burst its earthly fetters and soar away to Heaven.

Draw nearer to me, sister, on my bosom bow thy head,
And take my fervent blessing ere I'm numbered with the dead;
And Clarence, he must never know the words I've breathed to thee,
As a loving sister only let him learn to think of me.
Tell him I longed to see him, but could not wait his time,
For the angels came to waft me to a never-changing clime.

Thou wilt not forget me, sister, though long the parting seems,
Yet, oh, believe me, often will I come to thee in dreams;
And, if I gain permission of the true, unchanging Friend,
I will be thy guardian angel till He calls thee to ascend.
Then, as here on earth we've wandered, through fields of light
we'll rove,
With our spirits joined together by the silken cord of love.

THE SCHOTTISCH PARTNER.

BY MOTTE HALL.

OH, I danced with him the schottisch!
'Twas the first time that we met;
He was such a dashing creature,
With orbs as black as jet.

And he wore a lovely diamond;
How it flashed into my eyes!
As he drew me closely to him
I saw its wondrous size.

Oh, at ball, and rout, and party,
I was his schottisch belle;
He said I danced so charmingly,
And knew the step so well.

And we grew so very loving,
As we stood upon the floor,
That people said the schottisch step
Would lead to Hymen's door.

But, though I schottisched every night,
I reached not Hymen's dwelling;
The god must live a long way off,
But where, there is no telling.

And, only think, one festal night,
The ungrateful, wicked Harry!
I heard my schottisch partner say—
"She'll do—but not to marry.

"She'll do to twirl in mazy dance,
She'll do for giddy pleasure;
She'll do to meet out Folly's gauds
With Fashion's line and measure;

"But she'll _not_ do for sacred home,
A meek and gentle woman,
An angel in her purity,
But in her love a human."

TWO MOTHERS?

BY MRS. S. F. JENNINGS.

A LITTLE dirty ragged boy, in the streets of New York, selling penny songs, is asked by a gentleman if he has a mother. "Neow don't—where's yourn? Does she know you're out?" he says, with that impudent _nonchalance_ which is the more pitiful because so common among that class. But the gentleman buys some of his songs, and that act is the sesame to his heart. Upon a second putting of the question, he is ready, though with the same reckless air, to answer, "No; folks don't have two mothers, do they? and mine's dead's long ago's I can remember."

Two mothers? Never, little one;
No merit brings such meed;
God gave thee _one_—if she be gone
God help thee feel thy need!
For a dangerous way, stormy and wild,
Thou goest, without thy mother, child.

The throbbing heart of this mighty town,
How beats its pulse for thee?
The tide of life swells up and down
The paths of this restless sea.
Will they dash thy bark on the surf away,
Like a straw or leaf on the ocean spray?

Poor boy! for thee how ruthless time
All tender ties hath riven!
Thy father's love—all seared with crime;
Thy mother—gone to Heaven.
No brother, sister, guards the shrine,
When God hath set his seal divine.

Thy mother _dead_? long, long ago?
No soft eye beams on thee?
No kindly voice says firmly "No,"
To bid thy tempter flee?
And snares are thick, and pitfalls deep,
And the upward way is rough and steep.

And thou heedest not, in thy soul's deep night,
That God hath so bereft thee;
And thou carest not for the trembling light
Dim in thy memory left thee.
God save thee from the world's sure blight!
God save thee from an _endless_ night!

A LOVING HEART.

BY W. S. GAFFNEY.

SWEETER than the sweetest flower,
Brighter than the brightest gem,
Richer far than Flora's bower,
Art or nature's diadem—
Fairer, sweeter,
Purer, meeter,
Is a kind and loving heart!

Wealth may prove a toy caressing;
Beauty's charms a world of light;
But Affection is a blessing
From a soul serene and bright;
Kindest, purest,
Best and surest,
Is a faithful, loving heart!

EVENING THOUGHTS.

BY H. MERRAN PARKE.

TWILIGHT deepens upon the lea,
And shadows come dancing in play with me;
Little brown birds have hurried away
To their nests in the tree-tops old and gray,
While here at my window I lean and gaze
Earnestly into the misty haze,
Watching the coming of one sweet star
Which thou'rt now seeking from me afar.
Absent and dearest, my spirit's life
Dost ever forget, 'mid the din and strife,
That one fond heart o'er the line of hills
Sighs for thy presence, yet bounds and fills
With measureless bliss when this sweet hour
Gathers around with its magic power.

Visions of brightness come and go
Like the falling and melting of winter snow;
But one, a presence like thine remains,
And winds my heart in its golden chains.
Then, sweet as the music in Assam's bowers,
When winds go singing among the flowers,
Or like the leaves of the lotus-tree
That touch each other in melody,
So sweetly a voice creeps into my soul
To woo my senses from earth's control,
And point to a world of rarer joy
Where pleasures are found that never cloy,
Where bliss supernal forever reigns,
And rapture gushes in seraph strains.

Oh, earth is darkly beautiful now,
With her garland of flowers upon her brow;
And the stars have come with their golden eyes
To light up the portals of Paradise;
The visions of sweetness have left my heart,
But the voice of music will never depart;
And when I look to the shining skies,
Where the bright pavilions of glory rise,
I'll think of the gardens of matchless flowers,
Where angels walk 'mid the wingless hours;
And, dearest, I'll think we'll sometimes go
The peace and rapture of heaven to know.
But, hark! the sound of ringing bells
Comes on the wind, and softly tells
Midnight—and earth doth sweetly rest,
With her beautiful children on her breast.

SONNET.—FLOWERS.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

WINTER scarce o'er, as messenger of Spring,
Walks forth bright Snowdrop, clad in green and white,
Which simple beauties every eye delight,
Till Violet scents the gale and Bluebirds sing;
Come now the Windflower and the Tulip tall,
And Naiad Lily of the lowly vale,
The lover's flower, which is true passion pale;
Up, next, Narcissus springs, more fair than all,
Reflecting in the brook, that purls anigh,
Her image, and, like Echo, hastes to die;
Then the sweet lady Rose, at Zephyr's call,
Like nymph, comes forth to show her glowing breast,
While Flora holds her proudest carnival,
And yields the palm to her, as queen of all the rest.

MY TULIPS.

BY H. S. D.

STERN old Janus shook his sceptre
Over a shivering land,
Yet spring, one day, with a warning came
And slipped it from his hand.
She brought him torrents from the skies,
And rivers down the street;
Melted his crown about his eyes,
And thawed his icy feet.

My tulip bulbs in goodly rows,
Scenting the loosened springs,
Shot up in haste to look around;
But ah, the silly things!
They did not know that when spring comes
In such a vapory way,
She only thinks to try her power,
And never means to stay.

So when the reckless sprouts had seen
Their fill of mist and mud,
Spring went away and left them e'en
To manage as they could.
Then winter rose in fearful rage,
And fumed and flurried round;
He shut the waters in a cage,
And closed the opening ground.

Like true philosophers, my plants,
Though sorely pinched and frayed,
Braved the old tyrant in his rants,
And stood there undismayed,
Till spring, with airs and sunny smile,
Came tripping o'er the ground,
Leading her orchestra, the while,
In many a tricksy sound.

And buds above, below, burst forth,
In tints of emerald dressed,
To see the wild spring gain the north,
My tulips with the rest.
When she'd subdued the rigid earth,
And conquered all the cold,
My plants, to grace her victory, donned
Their crimson and their gold.

Out flashed their flames, their feathers tossed
Upon the ambient air,
And nicest choice was dazed between
By bloemen and Bizarre.
But when the gentle sway of spring
Must yield to summer's pride,
My tulips fainted with regret,
And dropped their heads and died.

THE DEAD TREE.

I SAW it with leafy honors crowned
By a crystal streamlet's side,
And its long, fair boughs in their graceful play
Stooped down to the gentle tide.

I lingered once beneath its shade
At the noon of a summer day;
When youth's high pulse through my temples beat
In its swift and burning way.

And many a thought of my questioning heart
Went out on restless wing,
To the unseen's far and shoreless waves,
Some tidings thence to bring.

Blest, blest and beautiful seemed all things,
Green earth and the holy sky,
And _soul_ with its wondrous, fearful gifts,
And doom of mystery.

Years passed; from distant and stranger homes
I came with a colder brow;
But at nature's altars wreathed and pure,
My spirit still could bow.

The crystal stream on its winding way
My footsteps traced once more,
And a dim sweet thought of other days
Led softly on before,

To where a circling emerald wall
Caught the laughing waves to rest,
For a moment charmed and placidly
In its violet-scented breast.

And there, far down in the stillness glossed,
All riven, bleak, and gray,
Was a giant form that frowned above,
Though kissed by the summer ray.

Then a mist came over the sunbeam's light,
The breeze swept chillingly,
And something mourned within my heart,
But not for the blighted tree.

For a vision came with a lordly bow,
And stood beside me there,
With pride-wreathed lips and a clear dark eye—
Away—'twas a thing of air.

Yet a being like it on earth once dwelt,
With men thus high and cold;
But the valley's clods press heavily
And mute o'er the spoils they hold.

A deep pall covered the wasted corse,
A deeper the passing soul;
A name that stands like yon gray, sad tree,
Was the proud man's earthly goal.

LET ME DIE!

BY S. M. MONTGOMERY.

OH! who would live on in this dreary world,
When the light of Hope has fled,
And the friends of old are changed and false,
And faith and trust are dead;
When the heart is crushed 'neath its weight of grief,
And the smile of joy is gone,
When "love's young dream" is past—all past,
Say, who would linger on?

Let me die! ay, lay me down to rest
In the dreamless sleep of death,
Where flowers send forth, at dewy eve,
Their pure and perfumed breath;
Where the bright sunshine will gently fall,
And soft winds murmuring by,
Will my requiem chant, in whispers low,
Through the green grass waving high.

LINES TO A BRONCHITIS BIRDIE.

A FRAGMENT.

BY N. W. BRIDGE.

NOW heed the counsel of a sage,
And closely keep in thy warm cage
This cold and dreary winter through;
See that ye shun the winds of March,
No April showers thy plumes unstarch,
Nor skies of May thy crest bedew.
And then, perchance, sweet airs of June
Will find our Birdie's throat in tune,
And ye through valleys green may rove,
And o'er the sunlit emerald hills,
Within the cool refreshing grove,
Along the marge of winding rills;
And gather flowers of varied hue,
'Mid grassy beds and moss-grown banks,
And on them smile, and kiss them, too,
While they will sweetly blush their thanks,
And drink thy health in drops of dew;
Inhale the blossom-scented breeze
Within thy oscillating zone,
And never cough, nor even sneeze,
So sound thy swan-like throat has grown.
Then will thy happy voice be heard
Amid sweet spring's melodious throng;
No other heavenly warbling bird
Will sing so joyous, oft, and long.

L'ISOLEMENT.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE,

BY WM. A. KENYON.

OFTEN, at sunset, on the mountain side,
Beneath an aged oak I take my seat,
My vision roaming o'er the plain spread wide,
Whose panorama opens at my feet.

Here scolds the river, thus in foam to break,
Then slow meanders down the dim afar,
Toward the spread waters of the sleeping lake,
Where smiles in azure the fair evening star.

To these crowned summits—dim old colonnades—
The gentle twilight still a last ray lends,
E'en while the cloud-car of the queen of shades
White o'er yon far horizon's verge ascends.

Spreading through all the air, with gothic swell,
Soft sounds of worship bid the ear attend;
The trav'ler stops to hear the distant bell
With day's last noises holy concerts blend.

But these fair tableaux have no charm for me;
My sight indifferent is o'er them led,
Like the fleet shadows that at noon I see:
Suns for the living cannot warm the dead.

From hill to hill in vain I turn my glance,
From south to north, from sunrise to his rest,
I search at every point this vast expanse;
Nowhere doth fortune wait on my behest.

What make these valleys and these homes? I cry;
Vain objects all; their charm for me has flown:
Rocks, rivers, forests, loved retreats, I sigh,
One being absent, every soul is gone.

What signifies the sun to rise or set?
And what a heaven sombre or serene?
Returning days no joy for me beget,
And still unmoved I gaze on every scene.

Round could I follow the sun's vast career,
My eyes would see but deserts wild and void;
Nothing he shines on can my bosom cheer:
I wish for nothing here below enjoyed.

Perchance beyond the borders of this earth,
Where the true sun looks down from other skies,
Could I but cast the slough of this world's birth,
What I so much have dreamed would meet my eyes.

There, filled from fountains whither thought aspires,
There might I find again, with hope and love,
This fair ideal every soul desires—
Find her who has no name save there above.

Borne on Aurora's car, why can I not,
Vague object of my vows, launch forth to thee?
Why on this earth of exile is my lot,
With nothing common between it and me?

Leaves in the prairie fall, with passage brief,
And evening breezes to some dale convey;
And I—am I not like a withered leaf?
Ye stormy north winds, bear me hence away!

TO A FRIEND ON THE DAY OF HIS MARRIAGE.

A STORE of happiness to thee
This day auspicious brings,
And o'er the future fairy Hope
Her robe of promise flings.

Oh, fair is she whom thou hast won
To be thy gentle bride,
A fairer none could ever wish
"To grace a lover's side."

But well for thee thy chosen one
Hath charms that brighter shine,
And these by strong, though tiny cords,
Shall make her doubly thine.

Beneath the potent hand of Time
That graceful form must bow,
And age his furrowed lines shall trace
Upon that lovely brow.

And years of care shall dim those eyes
Sparkling with love's own light,
And 'mid those dark and glossy braids
Shall mingle threads of white.

But outward change shall only prove
That heart more true to thee,
And, though the eyes their lustre lose,
_It_ will unaltered be.

And oh, when sorrow's storm shall come,
For come it surely will,
'Twill only bind that loving heart
To thee more closely still.

And now, though many friends are near,
Wishing thee perfect bliss,
Not _one_, I know, is more _sincere_
_Than she_ who sends you _this_.—V.

CAPS AND HEADDRESS.

AS it is impossible to describe the various shades of trimming that are seen in the new styles of caps and headdresses, we resort to cuts to illustrate them.

Fig. 1 is a breakfast-cap for a young married lady, of a very simple style; the foundation is of a plain net; this is traversed by plaitings of lace, through which is passed a flat plaid ribbon of bright hues. Loops and bows in profusion at each ear. It will be found a very stylish model.

Fig. 2.—A more complicated and less youthful cap, composed of insertions and edgings, trimmed with mantua ribbon of a good quality.

Fig. 3.—A graceful style of headdress for a young person, when simplicity is to be preserved. It is merely of full _bandeaux_, slightly waved; the flowers, a light drooping spray, are arranged in the _bandeaux_, instead of the back of the hair, or across the brow. The back of the hair, as seen in Fig. 4, is dressed in three puffs, and secured by a low ornamental comb. We have still newer designs of headdresses in preparation to illustrate the topic of the coming month—dress at watering-places.

JUVENILE FASHIONS

WE are very much pleased—nor is it to be wondered at—with the communications that frequently reach us with regard to this especial department.

"Indeed," writes a correspondent, whose opinion is of value, "the good ideas you have given me concerning children's dresses and many other things, during the three months I have received the 'Lady's Book,' I consider worth the whole year's subscription."

Once, at least, every season we devote our chitchat especially to the young people; and to show they are not forgotten in the mean time, select a design from Mrs. Suplee's large establishment—of children's clothing, etc.—of a boy's summer suit.

The plaited linen shirt, or chemisette, Fig. 1, is sometimes worn by itself, buttoning to the waistband of the trousers, Fig. 2, which are full, and rather long. The over-jacket may be made of Cashmere or any suitable material, and is intended for the street. The peculiar style of the sleeves and the square opening of the front display the fine linen bosom and sleeves.

FASHIONABLE BONNETS AND CAPS.

_From the celebrated Establishment of Thomas White & Co., No. 41 South Second St., Philada._

No. 1. BOY'S HAT.—Material of Coburg straw.

No. 2. BONNET TIP.

No. 3. BONNET CROWN.

No. 4. WIRE BONNET FRAME.

* * * * *

_Description of Cuts on page 481._

No. 1. INFANT'S TURBAN.

_Material._—Embroidered French blonde and gimp.

_Trimming._—Bunches of white ribbons at the sides, with quilling of blonde around the face.

No. 2. BOY'S JOCKEY CAPS.

A. _Material._—Straw brilliant, edged and trimmed around the front with Paris gimp.

B. _Material._—Brilliant straw, inserted with Paris gimp. Front edged with gimp.

No. 3. SUMMER BONNET.

_Material._—Blonde lace, with quilling of ribbon. Crown of silk, with lace fall to hang over the cape.

_Trimming._—Bouquets of wild flowers.

No. 4. ITALIAN LEGHORN.—Untrimmed.

CHINESE SAYINGS.

SOME of the ordinary expressions of the Chinese are sarcastic enough. A blustering harmless fellow they call "a paper tiger." When a man values himself overmuch, they compare him to a "rat falling into a scale, and weighing itself." Overdoing a thing they call "a hunchback making a bow." A spendthrift they compare to a rocket which goes off at once. Those who expend their charity on remote objects, but neglect their family, are said "to hang their lantern on a pole, which is seen afar, but gives no light below."

BRAID FOR CHILD'S DRESS.

WHY DON'T LADIES LEARN TO COOK?

AMONG the common things to the teaching of which public attention is now so strongly directed, it is to be hoped that the art of cookery—one of the commonest, and yet, apparently, one of the most difficult and neglected of all—will not be forgotten. The instruction of the female peasantry in this useful art would be as advantageous to themselves when settled on their own hearths as to the families of the middle classes, in which, before marriage, they officiate as domestic servants. On all sides we hear complaints of the difficulty of finding, and of retaining when found, a cook who can roast a leg of mutton, and make batter-pudding or pea-soup. In point of fact, we have heard of ladies who have it in serious contemplation to dispense with servants altogether, as the least troublesome alternative. Without wishing matters carried quite so far, we are convinced that many of our fair friends would lose nothing, either in point of respectability or happiness, while they could add at least one-third to the effective incomes of their husbands, if they were to spend a little more time in their kitchens, superintending the preparation of the family dinner, instead of contenting themselves with ordering it—if, indeed, they condescend to do even that. Some forty years back, ladies were driven to shoemaking as a fashionable way of killing time. Why not try a little cooking? Thanks to the modern stoves, with their nicely-arranged skillets and stewpans, which science and mechanical skill have substituted for the blazing kitchen hearth of other days, young ladies of the nineteenth century, just passing its prime, may cook without soiling their fingers or injuring their complexions. Were it not so, we would not recommend them to cook. We would rather live on bread and cheese all the days of our lives.

It will be said, perhaps, that our notions with regard to female education and employment are too antiquated—that in these matters, as in everything else, a new era has dawned, and the solid course of instruction now given in colleges for ladies will be triumphantly appealed to. Ladies, however, who possess these solid acquirements—who, like Lady Jane Grey, prefer Plato to a picnic—will be least likely to neglect the economy of the kitchen. They will thoroughly understand the dignity of the employment, and call to mind all the poetry of cooking. To say nothing of the dinner which Milton describes Eve as preparing when "on hospitable thoughts intent," there are the Homeric banquets at which kings literally "killed their own meat," and at which queens and princesses turned the spit for the roasting, or drew the water and chopped wood for the boiling. Cooking is classical, and no lady will disdain to take part in it who has read of these feasts in the original Greek. Let it be observed that it is the middle and working classes on whom we wish to urge the importance of the study. A gentleman's daughter can afford to be so ignorant of common things as not to be able to recognize chickens in a poultry-yard, because they do not run about with a liver under one wing and a gizzard under the other, though our modern poultry shows, it must be confessed, will tend much to dissipate this error. A knowledge, however, of the art of cooking is of more importance to the wives of the laboring population than to those of the middle classes, because it is the art, when properly cultivated, of making a little go a great way.—_Mark-lane Express._

A LACE BASQUE.

_Furnished from Madame Demorest's Emporium of Fashions, 375 Broadway,
New York._

THIS novel and graceful design is adapted for black lace or any other thin material that fancy may dictate, as will be seen by reference to the engraving. It is gathered in a graceful fulness to a band of insertion across the back, and also to a similar band fitting closely to the form at the waist, and falls in a rich double flounce over the person. The corsage is made high in the neck, gathered into a band same as the back. The style of sleeve (which is so clearly illustrated by the artist as not to need any further description) harmonizes most beautifully with the general design.

TRUTH.

BY D. HARDY, JR.

AS stands the old oak when the tempest is raging,
While others less firm are upturned by the blast,
So Truth, though with Error a warfare is waging,
Is firm and unyielding, triumphant at last.
She stands as unmoved as the bold promontory,
Tow'ring so proud by the waves of the sea;
Her heart-gushing song and her soul-cheering story
Should bless and make glad every land that may be

Truth, mighty and noble, down came from the Maker,
The Sovereign Ruler of earth and of sky;
Then cling to her fondly and never forsake her,
Till death shall have closed thy now beaming eye;
Truth is so mighty, Superstition and Error,
All powerless and weak, must fall by her side;
Then, friends of the Right, do not falter in terror,
But nobly press onward with Truth for your guide.

LADY'S RIDING BOOTS.

WE are at pains to present our friends with every _recherché_ article that can contribute to their welfare; for this purpose, we illustrate a pair of riding boots for ladies, which, in addition to their ostensible purpose, are admirable for damp or muddy walking, especially in locations where vegetation renders protection desirable. These boots will effectually prevent the moisture that is brushed off from proving detrimental. They are made of patent leather, of a rich, lustrous black hue, the upper portion of fancy colored morocco, purple, maroon, green, or bronze, and bordered with silk galloon, finished with neat tassels. Excepting in their elegant proportions and ornamental appearance, they are essentially similar to the dress boots of the sterner sex; and we are gratified to observe this move in the right direction. This fashion is in accordance with sound sense and comfort.

For the original of these beautiful and commendable articles, we are indebted to Mr. E. A. Brooks, Boot and Shoe Emporium, 575 Broadway, New York, from whose large and varied collection we propose affording frequent illustrations, that our fair readers may be fully _au fait_ in this important department of their costume.

COTTAGE FURNITURE.

Fig. 1 represents two tables formed to fasten together underneath.

Fig. 2 is a Pembroke table with the leaves raised.

LADY'S SLIPPER ON CLOTH.—SMYRNA EMBROIDERY.

_Materials._—Any dark-colored cloth, black or dark claret is the
best. Silk or terry velvet of a color contrasting well with that of
the cloth. Purse twist, first size, either gold color or the color
of the velvet, but one shade or two lighter.

Draw your pattern on the cloth first; then on the wrong side of the velvet; cut out the velvet carefully, and gum well the wrong side of the velvet. When cut out, apply on the cloth, press it down gently, and let it dry; when perfectly dry, work the outlines in chain stitch with the purse twist.

If you can manage the tambour needle, the chain stitch would be better done in tambour work, also quicker and more easily.

This design, embroidered with black silk on scarlet or blue merino, will also make an extremely pretty baby's shoe.

BREAD-CLOTH.

_Materials._—Five reels crochet cotton, No. 24, with crochet-hook,
No. 18.

MAKE a chain of 160 stitches, and work on it one row in dc.

_2d row._—Begin with 1 chain, and work 2 dc in each of the first two dc of last row. One dc in each of the others, except the last two, in both of which work 2, and end with a chain stitch.

The remainder is to be worked from the design, in ordinary square crochet; but, as there is first an increase of a square at each end, and afterwards a decrease to the same extent in every row, the space in the centre only being without either increase or diminution, we shall describe the way in which the decrease is so effected as to leave a regular edge; the increase being always done as we have described in the 2d row. There are two close squares at each end.

FOR THE DECREASE.—Slip on the first stitch, sc on the next, sdc on the next, dc on the fourth, do three more dc, 2 ch, which form the first open square in the line. At the other extremity reverse the process, working on the last four stitches, 1 dc, 1 sdc, 1 sc, 1 slip.

In all the succeeding rows that are decreased, make the slip stitch on the first dc stitch of the previous row, at each end, thus shortening every row by three stitches.

The edge being of two close squares, allows for all the ends being worked in, which should invariably be done.

Work one row of open square crochet all round, with the dc stitches sufficiently close at the corners to set flat, and in every square knot a fringe of twelve or sixteen strands, and 2 inches deep.

EMBROIDERY.—DRESS COLLAR.

(_See Colored Plate in front of Book._)

_Materials._—Embroidery cotton, No. 100.

Trace the pattern upon the muslin with a quill pen and blue mixed with gum-water; make the leaves, stems, and flowers in raised satin-stitch; the circles in buttonhole-stitch, either making them close or open, as may be preferred; if close, a raised spot must be worked in the centre of each. Work the edge in buttonhole-stitch.

PATTERNS FOR EMBROIDERY.

EDITORS' TABLE.

"Man to man so oft unjust,
Is always so to woman."--BYRON.

SUCH is the testimony of a poet, and history, we are sorry to say, would prove his assertion true. Yet a "better time" is coming, has already begun, and, in our country, seems making progress quite as rapidly as women are prepared to receive and adjust themselves to the new and enlarged duties which are opening before them. Education is the grand lever to elevate society. When both sexes are allowed equal privileges of instruction, the advancement of the race will be accelerated in more than twofold proportion, because the ignorance of one-half the species serves to hinder greatly the influences of intelligence in the enlightened portion. A small cloud can dim the sun.

Some important questions respecting female education are yet unsettled; one of these concerns the prerogative of their colleges. Are these institutions, when chartered by legislative authority, to hold equal rank with male colleges? When _degrees_ are conferred on the female student, shall she have an equal right to the honors these are supposed to confer, as are claimed for her brother graduate? Not long since, a lady was complimented by the Faculty of one of the most eminent Female Colleges in our country with "the Honorary degree of Mistress of Arts." While acknowledging the compliment, the lady wrote--

"Allow me to inquire if, in thus conferring degrees on women, you contemplate the assumption of the style similar honors confer on men? Would you be pleased to see that I added the M. A. to my name? Now, this is an important question, and will, as I think, have much influence on the future aspect of female education. If colleges for women are invested with full power of conferring degrees, and do confer them, why should not the same rules be applied to these as are considered proper in regard to colleges for your sex?

"If to append the _sign_ of his degree to his name be for a man an advantage, showing his acquirements have been acknowledged and guaranteed by the competent authority, why is not a similar course beneficial, under like circumstances, for a woman?" &c.