Chapter VI: Part 6

The Persian army is next day seen by Fausta and Piso, from the towers, whence the eye commanded the whole plain, to be approaching to the relief of Zenobia. They encounter the Roman army, and terrible slaughter ensues; while, at a signal from the Queen, who with half the population of Palmyra are on the walls, Zabdas, at the head of all the flower of the Palmyra cavalry, pours forth from the gates, followed closely by the infantry, the battle meanwhile raging fiercely between the walls and the Roman entrenchments, as well as beyond. But the Palmyrenes are repulsed with great slaughter; the routed army press back into the city, and the gates are closed upon the pursuers. In the evening, at the house of Gracchus, where the events of the day are discussed, Calpurnius, who had been in the thickest of the fight, but had escaped unhurt, relates the fate of Zabdas. The scene is one for the pencil:

"Calpurnius had been in the thickest of the fight, but had
escaped unhurt. He was near Zabdas when he fell, and revenged
his death by hewing down the soldier who had pierced him with
his lance.

"'Zabdas,' said Calpurnius, when in the evening we recalled
the sad events of the day, 'was not instantly killed by the
thrust of the spear, but falling backward from his horse, found
strength and life enough remaining to raise himself upon his
knee, and cheer me on, as I flew to revenge his death upon the
retreating Roman. As I returned to him, having completed my
task, he had sunk upon the ground, but was still living, and
his eye bright with its wonted fire. I raised him in my arms,
and lifting him upon my horse, moved toward the gate, intending
to bring him within the walls. But he presently entreated me to
desist.

"'I die,' said he, 'it is all in vain, noble Piso. Lay me at
the root of this tree, and that shall be my bed, and its shaft
my monument.'

"I took him from the horse as he desired.

"'Place me,' said he, 'with my back against the tree, and my
face toward the entrenchments, that while I live I may see the
battle--Piso, tell the Queen that to the last hour I am true to
her. It has been my glory in life to live but for her, and my
death is a happiness, dying for her. Her image swims before me
now, and over her hovers a winged victory. The Romans fly--I
knew it would be so--the dogs cannot stand before the cavalry
of Palmyra--they never could--they fled at Antioch. Hark! there
are the shouts of triumph--bring me my horse--Zenobia! live and
reign for ever!'

"'With these words his head fell upon his bosom, and he died. I
returned to the conflict; but it had become a rout, and I was
borne along with the rushing throng toward the gates.'"

Subsequently, an Armenian army, which had come to relieve Zenobia, are seen from the towers to strike their tents, throw down their allegiance to the Queen, and join the army of Aurelian. The following picture of the besieged city affords a striking contrast to the brilliant metropolis which our readers have seen described in the former letters:

"This last has proved a heavier blow to Palmyra than the
former. It shows that their cause is regarded by the
neighboring powers as a losing one, or already lost, and that
hope, so far as it rested upon their friendly interposition,
must be abandoned. The city is silent and sad. Almost all the
forms of industry having ceased, the inhabitants are doubly
wretched through their necessary idleness; they can do little
but sit and brood over their present deprivations, and utter
their dark bodings touching the future. All sounds of gayety
have ceased. They who obtained their subsistence by ministering
to the pleasures of others, are now the first to suffer--for
there are none to employ their services. Streets, which but
a little while ago resounded with notes of music and the
loud laughter of those who lived to pleasure, are now dull
and deserted. The brilliant shops are closed, the fountains
forsaken, the Portico solitary--or they are frequented by
a few who resort to them chiefly to while away some of the
melancholy hours that hang upon their hands. And those who
are abroad seem not like the same people. Their step is now
measured and slow, the head bent, no salutation greets the
passing stranger or acquaintance, or only a few cold words
of inquiry, which pass from cold lips into ears as cold.
Apathy--lethargy--stupor--seem fast settling over all."

The next movement of the Queen, is to go in person to the court of Persia, to obtain the aid of Sapor and the Prince Hormisdas, who has sought in marriage the Princess Julia, her daughter, who, though devoted to Calpurnius, offers herself as a victim on the altar of her country. The Queen, with attendants, leaves Palmyra, by a subterranean aqueduct, leading beyond the Roman camp, but is betrayed by a female slave, who is bribed to treachery by the Palmyrene traitor, Antiochus, and carried to the camp of Aurelian. The interview between Zenobia and the Roman general, with the account of an attempt by the enraged army, so long foiled by a woman, to destroy her, cannot be curtailed, and is yet too long to extract. It is in fine unity and the strictest keeping with the whole narrative. Antiochus, the traitor, is scourged beyond the camp of the Romans, by Aurelius' order. Terms of capitulation are now offered and accepted, and Palmyra, as a nation, ceases to exist. Aurelian enters the city; the Roman army is converted into a body of laborers and artizans, who are employed in constructing wains, of every form and size, to transport the treasures of the rifled city, by the aid of multitudes of elephants and camels, across the desert to the sea, to adorn the triumph of Aurelian, and add to the splendors of Rome; while the senators and councillors of Palmyra, among whom are Longinus and Gracchus, are led guarded from the city, amid the vehement grief of the people, to the camp of the Roman conqueror, and finally conveyed to the Roman prisons, at Emesa, a Syrian town, to await death at his hands.

The chapter which follows, details the efforts made by Piso to obtain pardon for Gracchus; his visit to Longinus and Gracchus in their prisons; their noble bearing in view of the near approach of death, and their reasoning on the principles of their philosophy, upon that event. Longinus is executed, Gracchus pardoned, and Calpurnius leaves the captive city, by the same subterranean aqueduct through which the Queen had escaped.

Sandarian, a Roman general under Aurelian, is appointed Governor of Palmyra, and the city seems tranquil. Gracchus, Piso, and Fausta, now the wife of Calpurnius, (who has at length returned, under a general pardon from the Emperor,) are induced, by a revolt in the city, headed by the traitor Antiochus, who had also returned under the general amnesty, to withdraw privately to one of the noble Palmyrene's estates on an eminence four Roman miles from the walls, commanding a view of the city. It was a square tower of stone, originally built for war and defence. Aurelian, on his march to Rome, with his army, gains tidings of the revolt of Antiochus, and returns again to punish the traitor, who had caused all the Romans left in Palmyra to be butchered. The result is thus given:

"As we came forth upon the battlements of the tower, not a
doubt remained that it was indeed the Romans pouring in again
like a flood upon the plains of the now devoted city. Far as
the eye could reach to the west, clouds of dust indicated the
line of the Roman march, while the van was already within a
mile of the very gates. The roads leading to the capital, in
every direction, seemed covered with those, who, at the last
moment, ere the gates were shut, had fled and were flying to
escape the impending desolation. All bore the appearance of a
city taken by surprise and utterly unprepared--as we doubted
not was the case from what we had observed of its actual state,
and from the suddenness of Aurelian's return and approach."

* * * * *

"After one day of preparation and one of assault the city has
fallen, and Aurelian again entered in triumph. This time in the
spirit of revenge and retaliation. It is evident, as we look
on horror-struck, that no quarter is given, but that a general
massacre has been ordered both of soldier and citizen. We can
behold whole herds of the defenceless populace escaping from
the gates or over the walls, only to be pursued--hunted--and
slaughtered by the remorseless soldiers. And thousands upon
thousands have we seen driven over the walls, or hurled from
the battlements of the lofty towers to perish, dashed upon the
rocks below. Fausta cannot endure these sights of horror, but
retires and hides herself in her apartments.

"No sooner had the evening of this fatal day set in, than a
new scene of terrific sublimity opened before us, as we beheld
flames beginning to ascend from every part of the city. They
grew and spread till they presently appeared to wrap all
objects alike in one vast sheet of fire. Towers, pinnacles,
and domes, after glittering awhile in the fierce blaze, one
after another fell and disappeared in the general ruin. The
Temple of the Sun stood long untouched, shining almost with the
brightness of the sun itself, its polished shafts and sides
reflecting the surrounding fire with an intense brilliancy. We
hoped that it might escape, and were certain that it would,
unless fired from within--as from its insulated position the
flames from the neighboring buildings could not reach it. But
we watched not long ere from its western extremity the fire
broke forth, and warned us that that peerless monument of
human genius, like all else, would soon crumble to the ground.
To our amazement, however, and joy, the flames, after having
made great progress, were suddenly arrested, and by some cause
extinguished--and the vast pile stood towering in the centre of
the desolation, of double size, as it seemed, from the fall and
disappearance of so many of the surrounding structures.

"'This,' said Fausta, 'is the act of a rash and passionate
man. Aurelian, before to-morrow's sun has set, will himself
repent it. What a single night has destroyed, a century could
not restore. This blighted and ruined capital, as long as its
crumbling remains shall attract the gaze of the traveller,
will utter a blasting malediction upon the name and memory
of Aurelian. Hereafter he will be known, not as conqueror of
the East, and the restorer of the Roman Empire, but as the
executioner of Longinus and the ruthless destroyer of Palmyra.'"

After Aurelian has again departed with his army for Rome, the noble Piso and Fausta re-visit the devoted capital. How horribly graphic the description of its desolation:

"For more than a mile before we reached the gates, the roads,
and the fields on either hand, were strewed with the bodies
of those who, in their attempts to escape, had been overtaken
by the enemy and slain. Many a group of bodies did we notice,
evidently those of a family, the parents and the children,
who, hoping to reach in company some place of security, had
all--and without resistance apparently--fallen a sacrifice
to the relentless fury of their pursuers. Immediately in the
vicinity of the walls and under them, the earth was concealed
from the eye by the multitudes of the slain, and all objects
were stained with the one hue of blood. Upon passing the gates
and entering within those walls which I had been accustomed to
regard as embracing in their wide and graceful sweep, the most
beautiful city of the world, my eye met naught but black and
smoking ruins, fallen houses and temples, the streets choked
with piles of still blazing timbers and the half-burned bodies
of the dead. As I penetrated farther into the heart of the
city, and to its better built and more spacious quarters, I
found the destruction to be less--that the principal streets
were standing, and many of the more distinguished structures.
But every where--in the streets--upon the porticos of private
and public dwellings--upon the steps and within the very walls
of the temples of every faith--in all places, the most sacred
as well as the most common, lay the mangled carcasses of the
wretched inhabitants. None, apparently, had been spared. The
aged were there, with their bald or silvered heads--little
children and infants--women, the young, the beautiful, the
good--all were there, slaughtered in every imaginable way, and
presenting to the eye spectacles of horror and of grief enough
to break the heart and craze the brain. For one could not but
go back to the day and the hour when they died, and suffer with
these innocent thousands, a part of what they suffered when the
gates of the city giving way, the infuriated soldiery poured
in, and with death written in their faces and clamoring on
their tongues, their quiet houses were invaded, and resisting
or unresisting, they all fell together beneath the murderous
knives of the savage foe. What shrieks then rent and filled
the air--what prayers of agony went up to the gods for life to
those whose ears on mercy's side were adders'--what piercing
supplications that life might be taken and honor spared. The
apartments of the rich and the noble presented the most
harrowing spectacles, where the inmates, delicately nurtured
and knowing of danger, evil, and wrong only by name and report,
had first endured all that nature most abhors, and then
there where their souls had died, were slain by their brutal
violators with every circumstance of most demoniac cruelty.
Happy for those who, like Gracchus, foresaw the tempest and
fled. These calamities have fallen chiefly upon the adherents
of Antiochus; but among them, alas! were some of the noblest
and most honored families of the capital. Their bodies now lie
blackened and bloated upon their door-stones--their own halls
have become their tombs."

The next letter is from Piso, at Rome, to Fausta, at Palmyra, descriptive of Aurelian's triumphant entry into Rome. We cannot resist the inclination to place this magnificent picture before our readers:

"The sun of Italy never poured a flood of more golden light
upon the great capital and its surrounding plains than on the
day of Aurelian's triumph. The airs of Palmyra were never more
soft. The whole city was early abroad, and added to our own
overgrown population, there were the inhabitants of all the
neighboring towns and cities, and strangers from all parts of
the empire, so that it was with difficulty and labor only,
and no little danger too, that the spectacle could be seen. I
obtained a position opposite the capitol, from which I could
observe the whole of this proud display of the power and
greatness of Rome.

"A long train of elephants opened the show, their huge sides
and limbs hung with cloth of gold and scarlet, some having upon
their backs military towers or other fanciful structures, which
were filled with the natives of Asia or Africa, all arrayed in
the richest costumes of their countries. These were followed
by wild animals, and those remarkable for their beauty, from
every part of the world, either led, as in the case of lions,
tigers, leopards, by those who from long management of them,
possessed the same power over them as the groom over his horse,
or else drawn along upon low platforms, upon which they were
made to perform a thousand antic tricks for the amusement of
the gaping and wondering crowds. Then came not many fewer than
two thousand gladiators in pairs, all arranged in such a manner
as to display to the greatest advantage their well knit joints,
and projecting and swollen muscles. Of these a great number
have already perished on the arena of the Flavian, and in the
sea fights in Domitian's theatre. Next upon gilded wagons,
and arrayed so as to produce the most dazzling effect, came
the spoils of the wars of Aurelian--treasures of art, rich
cloths and embroideries, utensils of gold and silver, pictures,
statues, and works in brass, from the cities of Gaul, from
Asia and from Egypt. Conspicuous here over all were the rich
and gorgeous contents of the palace of Zenobia. The huge wains
groaned under the weight of vessels of gold and silver, of
ivory, and the most precious woods of India. The jewelled wine
cups, vases, and golden statuary of Demetrius attracted the
gaze and excited the admiration of every beholder. Immediately
after these came a crowd of youths richly habited in the
costumes of a thousand different tribes, bearing in their hands
upon cushions of silk, crowns of gold and precious stones, the
offerings of the cities and kingdoms of all the world, as it
were, to the power and fame of Aurelian. Following these, came
the ambassadors of all nations, sumptuously arrayed in the
habits of their respective countries. Then an innumerable train
of captives, showing plainly in their downcast eyes, in their
fixed and melancholy gaze, that hope had taken its departure
from their breasts. Among these were many women from the shores
of the Danube, taken in arms fighting for their country, of
enormous stature, and clothed in the warlike costume of their
tribes.

"But why do I detain you with these things, when it is of
one only that you wish to hear. I cannot tell you with what
impatience I waited for that part of the procession to approach
where were Zenobia and Julia. I thought its line would stretch
on for ever. And it was the ninth hour before the alternate
shouts and deep silence of the multitudes announced that
the conqueror was drawing near the capitol. As the first
shout arose, I turned toward the quarter whence it came, and
beheld, not Aurelian as I expected, but the Gallic Emperor
Tetricus--yet slave of his army and of Victoria--accompanied
by the prince his son, and followed by other illustrious
captives from Gaul. All eyes were turned with pity upon him,
and with indignation too that Aurelian should thus treat a
Roman and once--a Senator. But sympathy for him was instantly
lost in a stronger feeling of the same kind for Zenobia,
who came immediately after. You can imagine, Fausta, better
than I describe them, my sensations, when I saw our beloved
friend--her whom I had seen treated never otherwise than as a
sovereign Queen, and with all the imposing pomp of the Persian
ceremonial--now on foot, and exposed to the rude gaze of the
Roman populace--toiling beneath the rays of a hot sun, and
the weight of jewels, such as both for richness and beauty,
were never before seen in Rome--and of chains of gold, which
first passing around her neck and arms, were then borne up by
attendant slaves. I could have wept to see her so--yes and
did. My impulse was to break through the crowd and support
her almost fainting form--but I well knew that my life would
answer for the rashness on the spot. I could only, therefore,
like the rest, wonder and gaze. And never did she seem to me,
not even in the midst of her own court, to blaze forth with
such transcendant beauty--yet touched with grief. Her look was
not that of dejection--of one who was broken and crushed by
misfortune--there was no blush of shame. It was rather one of
profound, heart-breaking melancholy. Her full eyes looked as
if privacy only was wanted for them to overflow with floods of
tears. But they fell not. Her gaze was fixed on vacancy, or
else cast toward the ground. She seemed like one unobservant
of all around her, and buried in thoughts to which all else
were strangers, and had nothing in common with. They were in
Palmyra, and with her slaughtered multitudes. Yet though she
wept not, others did; and one could see all along, wherever
she moved, the Roman hardness yielding to pity, and melting
down before the all-subduing presence of this wonderful woman.
The most touching phrases of compassion fell constantly
upon my ear. And ever and anon as in the road there would
happen some rough or damp place, the kind souls would throw
down upon it whatever of their garments they could quickest
divest themselves of, that those feet little used to such
encounters, might receive no harm. And as when other parts of
the procession were passing by, shouts of triumph and vulgar
joy frequently arose from the motley crowds, yet when Zenobia
appeared, a death-like silence prevailed, or it was interrupted
only by exclamations of admiration or pity, or of indignation
at Aurelian for so using her. But this happened not long. For
when the Emperor's pride had been sufficiently gratified, and
just there where he came over against the steps of the capitol,
he himself, crowned as he was with the diadem of universal
empire, descended from his chariot, and unlocking the chains of
gold that bound the limbs of the Queen, led and placed her in
her own chariot--that chariot in which she had hoped herself to
enter Rome in triumph--between Julia and Livia. Upon this the
air was rent with the grateful acclamations of the countless
multitudes. The Queen's countenance brightened for a moment, as
if with the expressive sentiment, 'The gods bless you!' and was
then buried in the folds of her robe. And when, after the lapse
of many minutes, it was again raised and turned toward the
people, every one might see that tears burning hot had coursed
her cheeks, and relieved a heart which else might well have
burst with its restrained emotion. Soon as the chariot which
held her had disappeared upon the other side of the capitol,
I extricated myself from the crowd, and returned home. It was
not till the shades of evening had fallen, that the last of the
procession had passed the front of the capitol, and the Emperor
reposed within the walls of his palace. The evening was devoted
to the shows of the theatres."

In the letter which closes the volumes, Piso, who is now married to the noble Fausta, describes a visit to Zenobia, at a magnificent villa on the Tiber, to which Aurelian has humanely caused to be brought and arranged every article of use or luxury found in the palace at Palmyra, which was capable of transportation. The exiled Queen, however, dwells sadly 'upon glories that are departed for ever; and is able to anticipate no other, or greater, in this world:

"She is silent and solitary. Her thoughts are evidently never
with the present, but far back among the scenes of her former
life. To converse is an effort. The lines of grief have fixed
themselves upon her countenance; her very form and manner are
expressive of a soul bowed and subdued by misfortune. Her
pride seems no longer, as on the day of the triumph, to bear
her up. It is Zenobia before me, but--like her own beautiful
capital--it is Zenobia in ruins. That she suffers, too, from
the reproaches of a mind now conscious of its errors, I cannot
doubt. She blames Aurelian, but I am persuaded, she blames
with no less severity herself. It is, I doubt not, the image
of her desolated country rising before her, that causes her so
often, in the midst of discourse with us, or when she has been
sitting long silent, suddenly to start and clasp her hands, and
withdraw weeping to her apartments, or the seclusion of the
garden."

Let no reader be tempted, from the copiousness of our extracts, to forego the pleasure of perusing these volumes in their entire form. We have given but the outline, merely, of that portion which has not appeared at large in our pages; preserving, indeed, the main events, but leaving untouched the delightful under-current of tributary incidents, and that vein of calm philosophical and moral reasoning, which every where pervade the work.

In conclusion, we cordially and confidently commend these volumes to our readers, with the hope soon again to find the writer gleaning in the great vineyard of the past; for surely, his mind is not of so light a soil as to be exhausted by one crop, how rich soever that product may be.

* * * * *

NATIONAL STANDARD OF COSTUME.--A Lecture on the Changes of
Fashion. Delivered before the Portsmouth (N. H.) Lyceum, By
CHARLES W. BREWSTER.

OUR thanks are due to the Portsmouth Lyceum for a copy of this very entertaining and instructive pamphlet, in which an important topic is ably discussed. The writer came to his task well prepared, by a great number of facts, pertinent illustrative incidents, and anecdotes, to do it full justice; and he has amply succeeded. Although we have little hope that the crying evil which he exposes will ever cease to be injuriously operative on all classes in America, we cannot refrain from yielding our tribute of praise and admiration to the good sense and sound reasoning of the first pioneer in a cause so commendable.

After showing that in the early days of the Jews, the fashion of garments was fixed, and that the costumes of the Chinese, the Turks, and the Moors, are the same now that they have been for centuries, the writer observes:

"How would a Chinese be surprised, on a visit to the Republic,
who had formed his ideas of our costume from a picture drawn
from life only half a century since! He contemplates the
picture, and in his imagination he sees the American beaux with
their tri-cornered hats, flowing wigs, broad-skirted coats,
leather small clothes, pointed shoes, and broad bright buckles;
and the beautiful belles by their side, with the long waists
of their dresses, sleeves closely attached to their arms,
the ample skirts distended by a butt hoop, and their heels
elevated in such shoes as the fair heroines wore in '76, when
they slept up bravely in the world, by adding four inches to
their heel-taps! With this picture full before him, the Chinese
arrives on our shore, and in vain seeks for a single article of
dress the picture represented. He fancies the treacherous ship
has borne him to a wrong country, or becomes distrustful of the
painter's veracity. When told, that the _fashions change_ among
us, the Chinese hears with wonder, and in admiration of the
stability of his own celestial empire, exclaims: Is this the
effect of your liberal government? If the fickle nature of your
customs has been interwoven into your political institutions,
while China will live for ever, the _Republic_ itself will ere
long be laid aside as a thing _out of fashion_."

The following anecdote is given, as illustrative of the supremacy of fashion:

"In 1813, Sir Humphrey Davy was permitted by Napoleon to visit
Paris. At that time it will be recollected, that every movement
of citizens was carefully watched, and that every assemblage
of people in public places was speedily dispersed by military
power, to prevent riots and revolutionary proceedings. While
the distinguished philosopher was attending the meeting of
the Institute, Lady Davy, attended by her maid, walked in
the public garden. She wore a very small hat, of a simple
cockleshell form, such as was fashionable in London at the
time; while the Parisian ladies wore bonnets of most voluminous
dimensions. It happened to be a saint's day, on which, the
shops being closed, the citizens repaired in crowds to the
garden. On seeing the diminutive bonnet of Lady Davy, the
Parisians felt little less surprise than did the inhabitants
of Brobdignag on beholding the hat of Gulliver; and a crowd
of persons soon assembled around the unknown exotic; in
consequence of which, one of the Inspectors of the Garden
immediately presented himself and informed her ladyship that no
cause for assemblage could be suffered, and therefore requested
her to retire. Some officers of the Imperial Guard, to whom
she appealed, replied, that however much they might regret the
circumstance, they were unable to afford her any redress, as
the order was peremptory. She then requested to be conducted
to her carriage; an officer immediately offered his arm; but
the crowd had by this time so greatly increased, that it became
necessary to send for a corporal's guard; and the party quitted
the garden, surrounded by fixed bayonets!"

To the justice of the subjoined, all reflecting minds will yield ready assent. We would make a reservation, however, in the article of _stocks_--a truly excellent and most comfortable invention:

"Paris is the fantastical seat of the fashions. The models
there formed are followed in England, where they are sometimes
improved upon--and are transferred, as regularly as articles of
merchandise, across the Atlantic. From the principal cities,
plates of the latest fashions, regulated by those prevailing in
the foreign courts, are transmitted at regular intervals, by
mail, to the principal towns throughout the United States, and
from these towns all the neighboring villages take their newest
fashions.

"The immediate adoption of the French fashions by other
nations, is not unfrequently a source of much merriment to the
inventors of them, and is a standing topic of amusement and
ridicule to the ladies of Paris; for it is not unfrequently the
case, that while the prints of costume, as they are prepared by
the French milliners and dress-makers, of the most absurd and
fantastical models, are seized upon and imitated in the dresses
of the English and Americans--these very prints are subjects of
sport to the Parisian ladies for their fantastical absurdity.
They regard them in the same light that we do the beads and
baubles which are sent to savage nations. With such worthless
trinkets we obtain from the savages their valuable furs, and
with trinkets of no greater real value, do the French extract
the hard earnings from the pockets of the American citizens.

"Had we the capacity of vision at one view to look
throughout the Union, and trace the course of fashion and
its metamorphosing effects upon society, the view would be
ludicrous indeed, and the changes no less unmeaning than
ridiculous. At one time we should see thousands of tri-cornered
hats thrown off, and as many heads covered with round ones--and
their places supplied in turn with the cap maker's fabric: at
another season, we should see a million half-worn coats laid
aside for moths to feed upon, to give place to some fashion
which has no higher merit than the sanction of some foreign
court: with another breeze across the Atlantic, another slight
commotion is seen throughout the land; and millions of cravats
are removed from their wonted location, that the willing necks
of American freemen, may be bound in the foreign _stocks_!

"We will, however, give you one fact, which has no imagination
about it. It is illustrative of what has been previously
stated, that the villages look for their fashions to the
principal towns in their neighborhoods, and that, however
independent they may feel of foreign political sway, few
Americans have ever yet had the bravery to declare independence
of foreign fashions, but meekly submit to what is _said_ to be
the _latest fashions_ in the place to which they look as their
emporium--whether such fashions indeed exist, or are imposed
upon them by cunning individuals, who 'by such craft do get
their wealth.'

"A few years since, a country trader in New-Hampshire, in
making purchases of a little of every thing for his store,
was offered, at a very low rate, a lot of coat buttons of the
fashion of half a century since, about the size of a dollar.
The keen-sighted trader, by the tailor's assistance, soon had
his own coat decorated with them. At home the lads needed no
better evidence of its being the latest fashion, than that
the trader had just come from the metropolis. The old buttons
went off at a great advance, and the village soon shone in
Revolutionary splendor! If the shining beaux _thought_ they
were dressed in the latest Parisian style, did they not feel as
well as though they really were so? And did the supercilious
eye with which they regarded the poor fellows who could not
afford buttons larger than a cent, beam less with aristocracy
than the exalted courtier's?

"One other illustrative anecdote occurs to us, which we cannot
forbear giving. A few years since, two young milliners, located
in a town in the interior of New-Hampshire, found it necessary
for their reputation to follow the example of almost every
milliner within fifty miles of the metropolis, and to go once a
year to Boston for the latest fashions. Among the thrown-aside
articles in a dry goods store, worthless from being out of
date, were about one hundred and fifty bonnets. The calculating
damsels, who had seen enough of the world to know that any
fashion would go with a proper introduction, and knowing
no good reason why they should remain useless in Boston,
kindly took them off the merchant's hands for _six cents_ per
bonnet. Arrived at home with their large stock of the '_latest
fashions_,' they were careful to finish and decorate a couple
in good style, and the next Sunday, (the day on which new
fashions are generally displayed,) the 'Boston fashion' was
whispered through the village--and not in vain; for it was not
long, before the whole stock was disposed of, at from nine
shillings to two dollars apiece! The distressing epidemic of a
_new fashion_ thus speedily swept off nearly every bonnet in
the village, of one year old and upwards--although many were in
good health, and showed no signs of decay, till the pestilence
began to rage."

Mr. Brewster cites numerous instances of ridiculous aping of foreign fashions, by Americans, such as wearing in winter the summer hats of Paris, because they were the '_latest_ fashion,' and, while laughing at the folly of a hump-backed court around Richard the Third, donning the '_bustle_,' and appearing as if broken-backed! Our author talks of the large sleeves supping libations from tea-cups, and revelling in sauces at the table. Bless his simple heart! Does he not know that there are no large sleeves now? Would that he could see, of a windy day, in Broadway, a tall and lank but _fashionable_ 'olden maiden,'

'With form full lean and sum dele pyned away,
And eke with arms consuméd to the bone!'

He would find another evidence, that adaptation of dress to person and figure is of slight moment to the follower of fashion, in comparison with being in the mode.

In reply to the objection that permanency in fashion would tend to throw thousands of _artistes_ and artizans out of employment, our author observes:

"Is not the same objection raised to the introduction of
labor-saving machinery for manufacturing purposes? Yet we find
that although one man now, by the assistance of machinery,
can do the work which twenty performed a few years since,
yet we do not learn that any more are out of employment, or
that they have any less profitable business than formerly. If
permanent fashions should be established, some would, no doubt,
feel their influence at first: but would they be affected any
more injuriously than some branches of business are in every
few years, by _changes_ in the _fashions_? Take the business
of wig-maker, for instance. When the full-bottomed wig was
worn by a Dauphin of France, to hide an imperfection in his
shoulder, wigs became fashionable, and were worn by all ages
and classes in society, not only in France but also in England
and America--and their manufacture must have given employment
to many thousands. But somehow or other, the people of the
present age, not being able to discern why the imperfections
of a foreign prince should for ever rest upon their heads,
have with one consent thrown them off. They did not, however,
wait till all the wig-makers were dead before the change was
made, and of course many of them must have felt the effects
of the change in fashion upon their business. Look too at the
broad shoe-buckles of our revolutionary ancestors, and the
bright buckles at their knees. Did the buckle-makers starve
to death, when, as independent freemen, our sires resolved to
wear pantaloons and shoe-strings? No! Nor would the interest of
any class of the community be any more seriously affected by
establishing permanent models of fashion, than were those of
the wig or buckle-maker, who were compelled to seek some other
employment for a livelihood.

"If a careful examination is made, it will be found that a much
larger number are annually ruined in business by attempting to
follow the vagaries of fashion, than possibly could be injured
by establishing fashion upon a permanent basis."

We think all will agree with the writer in this position, on another ground, namely: that when the novelty of fashion shall be dispensed with in society, the female circle will at once forego much useless intercourse on the subject, and introduce in its place more rational and profitable topics.

We close, by recommending this Lecture to readers of every class, as containing much that is instructive, and that may be made profitable, to all.

* * * * *

WILD FLOWERS, CULLED FOR EARLY YOUTH. BY A LADY. In one volume,
pp. 257. New-York: JOHN S. TAYLOR.

WE are glad to perceive the public favor bestowed upon such works for the moral and religious improvement of the young, as the one now under notice. Stories, naturally related, and blended with good advice implied, and valuable lessons adroitly disguised, or robbed of didactic dullness, are capable of extensive good. They are well calculated to gain those passes of the heart which are often guarded by prejudice or indifference against the direct force of truth. We can heartily commend both the execution and tendency of each of the eight sketches in the volume before us. They are thus entitled: The Young Mechanics; Anselmo, Gardener of Lyons; Adela De Coven; My Uncle's Wand; The Friend of Olden Times; Stanmore; Glimpses of New-England Mountaineers, from a Traveller's Memoranda; and After the Party. As a specimen of the agreeable, unaffected style of the book, we make the following extract from the 'New-England Mountaineers:'

"One clear sun-shiny morning, in the month of February, some
three or four years since, as I was travelling in New-England,
not far from the Green Mountains, I left the stage-sleigh,
as it drew up to the door of a village post-office, and ran
forward to put my blood into quicker circulation.

"A crust had been formed upon the new-fallen snow, by the
freezing of a little rain that had followed the snow-storm, so
that a pretty decided step was requisite to break the crust, so
far as to walk securely, it being extremely slippery.

"Every tree and shrub was likewise encrusted with ice, the bare
boughs and slender twigs all standing out in full relief, under
a sky of purest blue, glittered in the sun-beams, as if covered
with rubies and diamonds.

"Those who have never experienced a northern winter, can form
no idea of the effect of sun-rise over such a scene as this.

"The day was severe enough to require all the aids of lion
skin, buffalo robes, and fine furs, to preserve the vital fluid
from stagnation. I had gone about a quarter of a mile ahead
when I met a little urchin of four or five years, carrying a
small pail of milk.

"'Why, my little fellow,' said I, 'where are your stockings
this cold morning?'

"'Aunt Nelly's ironing on 'em.'

"'What's your name, my boy?'

"'George Washington La Fayette Keeny.'

"'The deuce it is!' Why, my man, your name is very like a
jelly-bag, larger at the top than it is at the bottom.'

"'I never seed a jelly-bag,' said the youngster, 'but that is
exactly the shape of our Tom's kite; it's proper big at the
top, and tapers off at the end in a _leetle_ peak.'

"'Well, you're a smart boy for a simile. Run home and get your
stockings, quick step, and here is a shilling toward another
pair.'

"On I ran, but was soon compelled to leave the faint traces of
a road to avoid a cutter that came hurrying on at the heels
of a frightened market-horse. One thing after another came
bouncing out, strewing the path, and, last of all, apparently
much against his will, out popped the driver himself, heels
over head, his capes flying about his ears, his cap tossed into
a gully, and his temper not a little discomposed. He sprang
upon his feet.

"'Now, that 'are skittish colt of our Dick's--what on
'arth can a fellow do to stop the trollup--she goes like a
jack-o'-lantern. Hullo there! Stop that 'are mare, will ye? My
stars--what 'ill our Nab say?'

"But the strong and lively perception of the ludicrous, that
characterizes the New-Englander, even of the roughest mould,
seemed to overpower his vexation. Springing up from the hollow,
into which his fur-cap had rolled, he swung it round his head,
and burst out into a fit of obstreperous laughter.

"How the adventure ended, history does not record; the coach
came up, and we were soon beyond the region of buttered roads."

A New-England country-wedding is admirably depicted in the subjoined paragraphs:

"We reined up to an old-fashioned, solitary farm-house, flanked
by a range of barns and stables of more modern date, and their
capaciousness spoke well for the thrift of the owner.

"The farmer himself answered our summons at the door.

"'Can you give us a lodging to-night, my friend? The roads are
perilous in the dark, the storm is increasing every moment, and
'tis fifteen miles to the nearest public house. You will really
do us a Christian office, if you will but afford us a shelter
until day-light to-morrow.' The old gentleman hesitated, as he
stood with the door half open to shield himself from the rain
and hail.

"'Why, gentlemen, ye see, it is not quite convenient
_to-night_. We've got a _wedden_ here. I can't tell what our
folks would do with so many people. We shall have to keep all
the weddeners, like enough--'tis a savage night, out, I guess.'
At this crisis the son of 'mine host,' and heir-apparent of
house and homestead, came forward.

"'Father, I guess we can accommodate the gentlemen somehow. The
young men can sit up--there will be no difficulty. We can give
them a shelter and a warm supper at any rate.'

"All was settled, and in we went; and after due stamping,
shaking over-coats, and brushing up, with suitable ablutions,
we were ushered into the presence of the bride. She was an
interesting girl of eighteen, with a countenance bright with
health, intelligence, and happiness, dressed with marked
simplicity, and in charming taste. On one side she was
sustained by her lover--I beg pardon, her husband; the knot
had been tied a few minutes before our untimely intrusion--on
the other by two fair girls, their white favors, I took to be
bride's-maids.

"The ceremony of congratulating, or saluting, the new-married
lady, now commenced; but I perceived the young lady grew
pale, and showed symptoms of great reluctance at receiving
the salutations of this promiscuous company. The pretty
bride's-maids too, were considered fair game, and after
resisting, with very becoming shyness, they escaped from the
room, till the odious ceremony, as they called it, was over.

"This odd custom duly complied with, a custom now quite
obsolete in our cities, cake and metheglin were handed about.
An apology was made to the strangers for the absence of wine,
on the plea of '_total abstinence_.' A question was made at
once, whether metheglin did not come under the ban.

"'Well, well, my friends,' said the old gentleman, 'if it goes
agin your consciences, ye need not partake; but one thing I can
tell ye, 'tis better than any wine. When I was a young man, I
read a book called the Vicar of Wakefield, and I remember how
the minister used to praise madam's gooseberry wine; now I
don't believe it was a grain better than my wife's metheglin,
and I don't think there's any sin in drinking on't either--_at
a wedden_.'

"The company seemed very well pleased with the old gentleman's
logic, and still better satisfied with his lady's excellent
metheglin; and the two hours that intervened between cake and
supper were passed in cheerful conversation and music. * * *
Supper was now announced, not by bell or gong, or even the
whispered 'supper is ready' of some pampered son of Ethiopia.
No, no; by the good patriarch of the household himself, who,
with looks of real kindness, and true-hearted primitive
hospitality, threw open the door of the large old-fashioned
inner kitchen, and, rubbing his hands, cried out, 'Come,
my friends, all; supper is smoking; take your seats.' Thus
saying, he led the way, while the company followed in his wake,
rather unceremoniously, considering the occasion. * * * We had
venison brought in a frozen state from the Canadian borders;
we had delicious oysters from the coast of Connecticut; we had
salmon that had been preserved fresh in ice; we had ducks that
surpassed the famous canvas-backs, and the most delicate of
wild fowls and chickens, dressed in various ways. I must not
omit to mention a famous bird of the barn-yard, fattened and
killed, as the old gentleman asserted, 'a purpose for Clary's
_wedden_, and if it a'nt nice,' he added, 'it is not _my_
fault.' * * * Next came our dessert: I like to be particular.
We had of pasties a variety--custards, sweet-meats, jellies,
both foreign and domestic, honey rifled from the white clover
of their meadows, and all the different products of their dairy
in high perfection.

"After supper a toast was proposed. 'Long life, prosperity, and
concord to the newly-married couple;' which was drank with all
gravity."

These 'Wild Flowers' are tastefully secured by the publisher, who has contributed not a little to the cause of typographical reform. Two pretty engravings, also, embellish the volume.

* * * * *

LIVE AND LET LIVE; OR DOMESTIC SERVICE ILLUSTRATED. By the
Author of 'Hope Leslie,' 'The Linwoods,' 'The Poor Rich Man,
and the Rich Poor Man,' etc. In one volume, pp. 216. New-York:
HARPER AND BROTHERS.

A HALF page is left us, by the 'chances of type,' wherein to express an opinion of this little volume; and we forego the pleasure of extracts, that we may early call attention to a work which should be in the hands of every mistress of a family and servants in the United States. A thorough knowledge of American domestic life; a spirit of generous kindness toward all, even the humblest, conditions of humanity; a combination of incidents the most life-like, and all fertile in useful lessons both to servants and those under whom they are placed by Providence; a style simple, touching, and level to every capacity; these are some of the characteristics of this charming little book. We cannot doubt that the warmest hopes of the benevolent writer, in relation to her work, may be realized; that it _will_ rouse female minds to reflection upon the duties and capabilities of mistresses of families, making them feel their obligations to 'inferiors in position,' and quickening their sleeping consciences.

EDITORS' TABLE.

WILLIAM TYNDALE'S 'NEWE TESTAMENTE.'--We have often thought how delightfully a few hours might be passed in the London British Museum, in examining the first translation that was ever made of the Scriptures into the English tongue; and lo! without the expense, trouble, or peril of journeying so far, that celebrated work, more than three hundred years old, is before us, with a full and complete memoir of the ever-memorable author, and eke his engraved portrait, which whoso examines, shall forthwith pronounce, from _prima faciæ_; evidence, to be a faithful likeness. What an expanse of forehead!--how clear and searching the eyes!--what an air of decision and martyr-like firmness in the compression of the lips!--forming, in connection with the surrounding multitudinous beard, such an expression as might be produced by a blending of Lorenzo Dow's and Ex-Sheriff Parkins' most satirical smile. This acescent aspect, however, may well be pardoned; for Tyndale was persecuted through life, and finally suffered a painful martyrdom in the cause of his Master.

Few Bible-readers are aware how much of persecution, of 'pain, anguish, and tribulation,' they endured, who were the original translators of the Scriptures into English, and the early defenders of the doctrines they teach. The popish clergy charged Tyndale with altering the sacred records, and forbade the circulation of his Testament, under the severest penalties. The priest-ridden King of England joined in the crusade, and by a 'constytucyon pronyneyall,' prohibited the issue of any book of Scripture, in the English tongue; 'as though,' says Tyndale, 'it weren heresye for a Crysten man to rede Crystes gospell.' In reply to the charge of altering the New Testament, the martyr says, in a letter to a contemporary: 'I call God to recorde agaynst the daye we shal appeare before our Lorde Jesu Crist, to give rekonynge of oure doinges, that I neuer alterd one syllable of Goddes worde agaynst my conscyence, nor wolde do thys daye, yf all that is in earthe, whether it be honoure, pleasure, or ryches, niyght be giuen me.' And in the preface to his first edition, he also observes: 'I haue here translated (brethren and susters, moost dere and tenderly beloved in Crist,) the Newe Testamente for youre spirituall edyfyinge, consolacion, and solas: the causes that moved me to translate, y thought better that other shulde ymagion, than that y shulde rehearce them. Moreover, y supposed yt superfluous, for who ys so blynde to axe why lyght shulde be shewed to them that walke in dercknes, where they cannot but stomble, and where to stomble ys the daunger of eternall damnacion.'

All attempts to stop the circulation of the Scriptures were of no avail. Though they were not distributed 'withouten grete auenture and parell,' yet they ran and were glorified. The Roman Catholic bishop complains, that though often collected and burned, 'stil these pestylent bokes are throwen in the strete, and lefte at mennys dores by nyghte,' and that where they 'durste not offer theyr poyson to sel, they wolde of theyr cheryte poyson men for noughte.' In vain does the King issue orders, urging his subjects to 'kepe pure and clene of all contagyon of wronge opynion in Cristes relygion,' and warn them not to 'suffer suche euil sede, contaygyous and dampnable, to be sowen and take roote, ouergrowinge the corne of the Catholick fayth.' 'He that compyled the booke,' says Tyndale, notwithstanding these warnings and edicts, 'purposyth, with Goddes help, to mayntayne vnto the deathe, yf neede be. In brunninge the Newe-Testamente, tha did none other thinge than I loked for; no more shal tha doe, if tha brunne _me_ allso, if it be God his will it shal be so.' In this spirit, did he continue, by the aid of equally zealous cöoperators whom he raised up, to multiply editions of the New-Testament, and to defend its doctrines, until he fell, by shameful strategy, into the hands of his popish enemies, and was put to a cruel death.

The reader may be curious to possess a specimen of this ancient relic; we therefore make a few random extracts, in contrast with the modern and approved version, commencing with St. PAUL'S eloquent narration of his sufferings for the faith, in the eleventh chapter of II Corinthians:

TYNEDALE. MODERN VERSION.