earth, he would have found there a better return for his labour than the marble hearts of his parishioners were disposed to give him. But then his profession made him a gentleman; he had received a good education, and had lived, for some time at least, among scholars and men of taste,-having been maintained at the University by one of the foundation societies, who often send there candidates for holy orders. Poor man! from the moment he set his foot in Calartha, his daily and nightly study seemed to be, how to supply the wants of nature in a comfortable and sufficient manner: it would be profane to say luxurious-for what had he to do with luxury? He was acutely sensible he had nothing to do with it.

Men's minds soon grow submissive to their situations; and after a vain and ineffectual struggle of a few weeks to keep up appearances, to vie in many things with his neighbours, to be thought to have a decent table, to be seen to wear a decent dress,-he gave it up in despair, just in time to save himself from total ruin. It may be said that a bachelor, in so distant a province, where there was no competition to enhance the price of a single article, need not be ruined, with economy, even on forty pounds a-year: but the Curate had a mother and sister to maintain; and they took a little house on the slope of a hill, and lived together in it. How they lived; how they lodged; what they ate and drank,- -are mysteries that have never yet been sufficiently explained.

Now, the Curate was no economist: had the money found its way entire into his hands, it would have all melted away like the mists on one of the neighbouring hills he would often give, and wished always to give, to the poor: he loved, but not to excess, a cheerful glass, and sometimes would cast his eye on his threadbare coat, with a determined purpose to have a new one. All these indulgences would quickly have made frightful invasion on the income, if the mother and sister had not received the quarterly ten pounds with an eager grasp, and watched over its little, gradual ebbings, with a lynx eye and an iron hand: the money bad as well been at the bottom of the tin shaft in the vale below, for any indulgence it brought to him who toiled for it. It was in vain that the son sometimes appealed to the parent in moving terms, when, returned from a hot and dusky walk in the midst of summer, he begged hard for a few shillings: "James," said the old lady, "remember the dignity of the cloth. Would you lower youself by drinking, may be, more than you can bear? Go and finish the discourse you're writing, bit by bit, all the week: 'tis a beautiful piece o' writin, and there's no doubt the squire will ask ye to dinner after harin of it." The son looked down at the sound of dignity of the cloth: both his elbows were struggling through the time-worn vestment; yet he rose with a sigh, took down his manuscript, drew the table near the window, and was soon plunged in the very depths of his subject.

It might be thought that the imagination would freeze, and the power of composition be arrested by the hourly pressure of petty sacrifices and denials,-the uncertainty, when he rose in the morning, whether any sufficient refection would be that day given to the outward man: but it did not seem so; at least his public discourses were oftentimes very good, and even eloquent, and had evidently been the work of care and

NO. LV. VOL. V.

time.

:

One reason of this perhaps was, that Sunday was his day of triumph, and he felt it to be so. After sinking, in temporal things, below his parishioners during the whole of the week; after pining for comforts which they enjoyed to the full, he found himself, on this day, elevated above them,-was their instructor, their pastor, looked on by them as a man of learning and of power. He was far better adorned, also, than on week days: the gown left by his predecessor was in very good condition, and his appearance, on the whole, was respectable and impressive. Then, after the service, the hand was held out more freely and respectfully the squire stopped in the aisle, and the rich farmer without the door, to exchange kind and friendly words with him and an invitation to dinner, from some one or other, sometimes followed. There was a singular difference in all his demeanour, and tone, and bearing, on this day: his look was no longer restless and depressed, nor his attitude stooping, nor his air soft and cringing: he spoke fast and free, sat at the friendly table as a gentleman should, and thought no more of his forty pounds a-year. The privations of the whole week rendered the now loaded board an exquisite luxury. Perhaps, for his own peace, he had better never have sat there; for, on his return at night, he was beset with the fruitless remarks and desires of his mother and sister, who were hardly ever asked out on these occasions; and during the ensuing week, the daily and frugal meal was often embittered by their repinings. To entertain a friend in his own house, was a thing that never entered his head: had he dared to make the attempt, he might as well have faced two hungry harpies, as meet the looks and words of his rigid relatives. He was often to be seen of an evening seated in the little window-seat, overlooking the road; and there he feasted his eyes on the joyous groups that returned from the market of the neighbouring town, where they had eat and drunk, and where now returning, in the fulness of their hearts, to a comfortable home-to their own warm hearth. And then a knot of farmers would jog merrily by, talking, in loud voices, of the current prices, the coming harvest, and of their own well-stored barns and yards. "And why should so great a gulf be fixed between the pastor and his flock?" was a question he might well ask himself. Even when twilight had spread its dimness over dwelling and path, the form of the Curate might still be seen seated there: for candle-light was spared, with infinite care and skill, within the walls; and not till the middle of November, was any fire allowed. So he loved to linger over the last gleams of light, rather than turn to the void of his cheerless habitation. To defend himself from the increasing cold, he used to put on his ancient and rusty great coat, and fold it tightly round him. The want

of light was supplied from the public house of the village, which was directly opposite, and only a few yards distant; for, the rooms being as usual, profusely lighted, a partial glare was received from them through the windows of the Curate's apartments. But this was more to his annoyance than his comfort. Much has been said of the torments of Tantalus; but as much, and with equal justice, might be said of the sufferings of this thirsty, poor, and much-desiring man, who sat, from hour to hour, in a partial gloom, in which all the senses are more vividly awake, listening to the ringing or glasses, and the calls, continually repeated, for more

VII.

supplies of some refreshing beverage, of new and old ale, and even wine. Oft did he retire to rest with a spirit tried to the very core. Alas! it needs not a guilty conscience to embitter life: salt tears will stream down blameless cheeks.

Thus passed away two or three years; when one morning saw him summoned to a different scene,-to attend one of his parishioners, whose dwelling was at some distance. The man was dying, and over his bed bent a form and face that the eye would hardly look for within such walls: his condition in life was only that of a peasant, yet the daughter, who was his only child, was, in all opinions, the loveliest girl in the parish. Often, with surprise, had the Curate marked her beauty from the pulpit; and, in his few visits to the cottage, he had entered into conversation with her, and found, by the words that fell gently from her lips, that she had treasured his sermons in her memory and heart-the sweetest flattery, perhaps, that woman can pay to a youthful minister. He thought little of these things at this moment, however, but drew nigh to the side of his parishioner, and spoke to him in earnest and heart-felt tones: the man raised his hand in token of satisfaction, and seemed to devour every word he heard; but his eye, on which the world was now closing, was not lifted to heaven, but bent on the girl who hung over him. She was to be an orphan; and it seemed to be more than he could bear: he strove to man his spirit and call faith to his aid. But it might not be the dread reality of the moment would not yield to the hope of future protection, which the minister strove to incul

cate.

The parishioner, a man of strong but untutored mind, listened in seeming calmness for some time; but when death drew near, he struggled against the stern summons, laid one hand firmly on his daughter's form, and when he felt that hand loose its hold, he turned his glazing eye on his pastor, and said, "Man, if there's a love stronger than death, 'tis that for a desolate daughter: watch over mine, if you hope for mercy; for she is an orphan." The tears of the girl did not fall alone; for the feelings of the Curate were moved to the uttermost. Deaths and funerals had, from habit, become to him familiar things; but a death like this assailed every avenue of his heart and memory. The sun was yet rising, and his red beams fell through the cottage window on the face of the dead, whose thin hand was still extended towards his child, as if he miserably mocked the king of terrors; and on the features of that child was utter friendlessness. The Minister stood, with folded arms, on the other side of the bed: his earnest aspect, and compressed lips, showed him to be no passionless spectator: he bent forward, and taking the trembling hand of the girl, led her from the apartment. He hastened to his home; and thither the scene followed him, the dying charge still thrilling in

his ear.

small pittance of his household? If he did, the delusive hope fitted in a moment away, like a cloud from the bosom of the rocky hill on which his dwelling stood: yet, in spite of fate, he continued to love, and in the meantime, exerted all his little influence in the parish to improve the condition of the orphan.

Thus passed away a year, at the end of which a change came over his fortunes,- -a sudden and a great change. An old sister of his mother's died, and left to her nephew the property which had been the reward of a whole life of griping and saving. They were all at their scanty breakfast when a letter, with a black seal, was delivered the son took and opened it; a sudden light came to his eyes that had long been a stranger there, and a deep flush passed over his cheek: for it was the letter containing the account of the bequest. The strong emotions that seized every one were some time in subsiding. There was now a delightful certainty that poverty would dwell with them no more; life had never brought an hour so elevating; they shed tears, and then they laughed loud and long, in the fulness of their hearts; for the bequest amounted to nearly a thousand pounds, As it was all left to the son, he had, of course, the entire disposal of every farthing; and while the mother and sister naturally wished to surround their little household with comforts and enjoyments, and extend their consequence among the neighbours, he was occupied with different thoughts. The use he made of the money affords an instance of the strange waywardness of the human heart. He no sooner reecived the sum, than the insatiable desire of increasing it, like a demon, entered his heart. The strong and sudden novelty of the event had its share, perhaps, in this; to a man to whom the command of a few shillings at a time had been an object of desire, the possession of so much wealth was exquisite.

But there was a deeper cause also, and one of longer standing. The extensive parish of which he was the Curate, offered a beautiful and enticing field of specu lation, in which any sum, vast or minute, might be quickly employed. The soil was in many parts covered with mines, whose piles of ore, worthless as well as valuable, were strewed over the surface. The Curate had often fallen in company with the miners, who formed, indeed, no small part of his parishioners; and the shrewdness and intelligence of these men had not failed to interest him. Then he had loved to linger, during his various walks, on the brink of these templing scenes, to survey the various and valuable produce, and watch the iron-bound vessel that rose every moment to the surface and poured its fresh treasures from the deep caverns of the earth. It had never entered his mind, that he could partake in the mighty adventure, that he could ever blend his own destiny with that of the mine that spread around; but now the face of things was altered, and he resolved to adventure boldly and skilfully the property that had been left him. It was in vain that his parent, and Rachel, his sister, implored him to pause, ere he committed so perilous and fearful a deed,

this treasure: the nature of the man was changed; and there never was a more striking proof of the sudden influence of money on a disposition hitherto untried by it. He returned brief and stern answers to the mother before whom his voice had formerly been subdued and submissive,-looked her full in the face, and met her

glance of authority with one of equal command. The unhappy woman sank into a chair, wrung her hands, and said that a curse would come on the money thus awfully risked.

But there was another and more youthful eye and tone, that he dared not thus to meet. In the evening he hastened to the cottage where the daughter of the peasant still lived: his feelings were delightful as he entered; and he grasped her hand fervently, and looked long and earnestly in her lovely face. His own feelings were full of pride mingled with tenderness: for he felt that she was his own; and, to his ardent imagination, there seemed something exquisite in rescuing her from desertion, and executing the trust of her dying father: for poverty had crushed hitherto the spirit of the Curate, and shrouded every thing that was noble and generous in it. The girl spoke low and passionately, and there was hope in her voice and eye, as she wished him joy of his good fortune; for she had begun to love the kindhearted Minister, who had been a faithful friend in her distress. By his unceasing efforts he had procured her the situation of lady's maid in the town at about twenty miles' distance, and she was to depart in a few days. "Then you would not wish me to go now," she asked, "now that the world smiles upon you; you would rather, perhaps, that I should stay here?" He returned no answer. "It is a place of pride," she resumed, "and of command; and my father's cottage will be far dearer to me than that lady's house." He turned to the small window, through which the moonlight was shining beautifully, and she saw that his face was pale and agitated. Mistaking the cause, the colour rushed to her own cheek, and she said something about his despising her now he was rich he started at the words, and pressed her to his heart, that throbbed with anguish. He had known enough of the delusions of the human spirit in the various scenes of suffering, sorrow, and death, that his extensive parish offerred, to be aware that his own was now miserably led captive. Mary," he said, "the bitterness of parting will be hard to bear: we might now be married, I know, and be happy; but -but I am not rich, as you say,-not rich enough to live in comfort: no, my love, I wish to surround you with enjoyments, with affluence, that all thoughts of poverty may be chased from our dwelling as chaff before the wind." And then he told her of the purposes he had formed and matured, of laying out the property in a flourishing mine in the neighbourhood, where, in the course of a year, there was a certain prospect of its being doubled,

66

As he spoke on the tempting theme, his eye flashed, his voice rose, and his gestures were impassioned. The girl gazed in surprize and sorrow, and thought of the gentle tone, the happy smile, the look full of hope and affection, with which he had been wont to enter her dwelling. It was clear that she must part from her home, and its wild and loved scenes, from which she had never wandered before; for till his golden expectations were accomplished, as he admitted, the day of their union could not come, and he would be, in fact, as poor and dependent as ever. Her tears fell fast at the thought, and a warning conviction seemed to rush on her mind. She knelt before him, and, clasping his hand in her own, blessed him for all the care and tenderness with which he had watched over her orphan state, and besought him not to cast away the only pros

pect that might ever be of their union,-not to love gold better than her love; and then she pointed to the chamber in which her father died. The Curate's spirit was severely tried: the look, the action, the sorrow of the kneeling girl, were almost irresistible, and he felt them to be so the struggle was violent; but pride, a new sensation, at last came to his aid. "Why will you not," he said, "be guided by my advice? Have I not in every thing sought your welfare? and you blame me because I seek to make our home a more wealthy one! Bear this absence of a few months with patience, and then I will come and bring you to our home."

She rose, and spoke not another word of complaint or sorrow; and soon after he parted from her kindly as, ever, and sought his own dwelling on the hill. On the following day she left her home, and went to the dis

tant town.

And now the Curate knew no rest night or day. He was not long in deciding in what adventure to place his money; and yet the moments of suspense, ere he came to that decision, were beautiful. He traversed the whole neighbourhood every day with rapid and eager steps, canvassed with his own eyes the bearings and value of every enterprise. But how different were his air and tone! No longer bending and dependent, but firm, elevated, and clear. And many attentions and civilities were paid him; for, as the precise amount of the bequest was not known, people began to imagine it much greater than it was.

At last he fixed upon a very flourishing, or rather promising, copper mine, that had not been discovered more than twelve months; and here he embarked the whole of his property. The moment he had done this, a devouring thirst and gnawing anxiety seized on his soul: the traveller, dying in the desert, does not long more intensely for the cooling water, than the Curate did for the gains that were so soon to flow from his adventure. Religion; the sermons and prayers of the Sabbath; the visiting of the sick; the comforting of the dying:-all these were light as the autumn leaf, compared to the beloved, the glowing, the golden speculation. He was thin before, but now he wasted to a shadow. Murmurings began to rise in the parish at his neglect and insensibility; several people, who lived at the distance of many miles, in their last moments had longed for the sacrament, and seemed to linger on life's fading shore, unwilling to leave it without that consolation yet it never came. But the misery or happiness of others was now become quite indifferent to him he rose with the earliest light, quitted the house before either of its inmates were stirring, and repaired, over the moor, to the scene of the distant mine. The living object of his attachment he visited once or twice in the distant town, and told her, with a sparkling eye, of his ardent hopes; but no lover ever hung with more fondness over the untimely grave of his mistress, than the Curate did, morn and eve, over the black heaps that rose at his feet, in which he felt his own fate involved. He sate beside them, took the moist stones in his hand; minutely, darkly, distinctly traced were the veins of the rich mineral; and then he retraced the path to his dwelling, and sat down silent and abstracted. The puny income, that had so long been his sole resource, he now thought of with perfect contempt. "Ten pouuds a quarter!-he had not the slightest intention of retaining his cure beyond the time.

when the returns of the mine began to pour in." And these returns really seemed, for a short time, about to realize his most sanguine anticipations: a small vein of valuable copper was cut into; the shares rose greatly in price; and his own, for which he had given nearly a thousand pounds, might now be sold for fifteen hundred. A few months before, the receipt of this sum would have been felt to be the greatest blessing that ever fell to man; but now, the prospect of the future was so glorious, that he received the tempting offer with no small scorn, observing, "that he should be a fool to part with what would soon gain him many thousands." Could a man whose every thought and imagination were thus deliciously occupied, attend earnestly to the poor, cold, rugged realities that called every moment for his exertions? It is a painful and a bitter thing, however, when our enjoyments depend wholly on the uncertain chances of each coming day and hour: the reports from the mine beneath were not always favourable; there were some moments when the vein of copper began to be less productive, at others a total extinction was threatened. The Curate gazed on the countenances of the miners, just ascended from the scene of toil, with a lyux and scrutinizing eye, that said, ere the tone could utter, "Oh say that my hopes still live!" But death came at last; and the Curate felt the barbed arrow in his soul. Not the extinction of being-that, perhaps, had been mercy; but the withering for ever of every happy and every golden hope. After a few weeks of thrilling suspense and joy, the vein of ore failed utterly other parts of the ground were explored, and excavations made in every direction, but all in vain ; and, in a few months, the whole speculation fell through. The legacy was entirely gone, and not the slightest addition had been made to the real comforts and enjoyments of the possessors. The miserable man now allowed the truth of this, and the words of his mother fell awfully on his ear: they were fierce, unsparing, and ceaseless; and he listened to them in silence, but not in calmness. There was a voice that would have brought comfort, that he loved to hear: but it was afar, and he had long been a stranger to its sweet tones; for, during the fever of speculation, he had neglected the orphan girl, and had lately heard that she had gone to a more distant residence.

Nearly twelve months passed away: the Curate's mind, that had borne calmly the long pressure of real poverty, could not support the fearful blow that cut off his expectations: a deep despondency grew on his spirits daily, and the care of his parish seemed to he a heavy burden. It was strange, but his thoughts still hovered round the scene of his ruin. One evening he had wandered thither, and was seated on one of the scattered heaps that attested with what avidity riches had been sought it was an evening in autumn, and the rays of the sun, setting in the sea, that was full in view, were thrown on the waste spot. The stones, containing a portion of the rich mineral, gleamed with a golden hue, as the fading beams rested on them, as if in mockery of the hopes of the wretched man who sat there. But he needed no illusions of fancy to sum the swell of real anguish thought after thought coursed wlidly through his brain, and in them were despair, remorse, and blasted love! Raising his eyes from the barren soil, he saw a female advancing slowly over the moor, as if her steps were turned to the neighbouring village. The path led

through the ruined mine; and, as the stranger drew near to the despairing Curate, she paused, and the eyes of each were fastened intensely on the other. It was Mary, the object of his affection, of whom he had often thought with self-reproach, and a longing desire to see her again. And now she stood before him. He who has bent beneath misery and desertion, can tell how welcome are the returning glance and form of those who love us. The Curate clasped his hands fervently, and a deep flush came to his wasted features. "Mary," he said, "you are come to comfort me: I thought you would not forget or forsake me." The girl stood silent for a few moments; but it was not the silence of a full heart. She was deeply changed: the look of simplicity and candour had given way to one of haughtiness: the spirit, too, it was evident, had been affected by the scenes of dissipation and splendour in which she had resided. "James," she said, "I am come, but not to be your wife-that hour is past; and as to forsaking, you never came to see me for many months, till I thought you had forgot me." He spoke in sincere and glowing words of his bright and prolonged hopes, and how they had wholly occupied his mind; and of former moments, of her destitution, and his fidelity. Still she listened coldly : he knelt before her, and gazed on her beauty, in agony at the conviction that it never could be his; and then he told of the hour of her father's death, and how in that last moments she had been given to his care. She turned pale and seemed to be struggling with remembrances. • Mr. Collins," she said, at last, “it is of no use to talk of this now; I cannot feel as I did then remember the time when I kneeled before you, and prayed with tears that I might not leave my home, and that you would prefer my love to the love of gold. You would not, and now it is gone from you: not because of the ruin you have met with; but in the places where I have dwelt, other feelings, and prouder ones, have been nurtured. Farewell, my kind and generous protector, may every blessing attend you! but-but I never can be your wife." She turned from the spot with a quickened step: he gazed after her retreating figure as long as it remained in sight, and then he turned to the solitude of his own heart. "Is that my Mary?" he said, with a miserable smile, "the dear devoted girl that I watched over when her father died? Surely she was to be my wife, my beautiful wife! and was to comfort me in my misery." He would have sat down once more on the glittering pile beside him; but a sudden thought crossed his brain, and he started from the spot as if a serpent had stung him: he clenched his hand fiercely, and gnashed his teeth:-"There, there," he said, wildly, ، was my ruin; my love, my fortune, all my joy on earth, and hope in heaven, were sold for these accursed heaps. I sold my bride, with all her tenderness and beauty, for these detested stones,-ha! ha!-that now mock me like so many fiends."

The night had set in darkly ere he went to his wretched home: his spirit was utterly crushed, and his frame soon sank also. Before long, he was unable, as well as unfit, to attend to his ministerial duties; and his numerous flock saw with pity, that their pastor's career, it was probable, would soon draw to a close. Six months had not passed, when the girl he loved, and whose attachment was the last silver cord to which he had clung, was married to a young farmer in the neighbourhood. Even had she been faithful, what prospect

He

remained to the Curate of supporting a wife on the miserable pittance to which the loss of his bequest reduced him? But his feelings were embittered by the knowledge that she had brought a small portion to her husband, which was bequeathed to her by the will of the lady whom she had served. Another Curate also was found to supply the wide parish of Calartha; but the people, in kindness, continued to allow their former Minister his poor salary, from the conviction, perhaps, that he would soon cease to be a burden to them. still loved, when his failing strength permitted, to walk out into the wild paths that had so long been familiar to him; and his feet, it was observed, though they sometimes fainted by the way, seemed to wander mechanically to the scene of his dazzling hopes and of his ruin and there he would stay for hours, grasping, at times, with a trembling hand, some stray stones, richly veined with the mineral, while his hollow eye and attenuated form showed that poverty and wealth would soon be alike indifferent to him. One day he had been absent from his home much longer than usual, and his mother and sister went forth to trace his steps to the well-known scene, and found him reclined peacefully there; but the flitting remains of strength had been exhausted beneath the heat of the day. They called on his name, and bade him come to his home: but he heard them no more; for life was extinct, and it seemed, from the expression of his features, that he had welcomed death.

LONDON AND PARISIAN FASHIONS.

DRESSES.-Our neighbours the French to whom is owing so much of what is modish and distingué, talk largely of some trivial innovations which, from their dwelling so much on the subject, would lead some to suppose they were not in the habit of frequently introducing. We last month alluded to the very un-orthodox alliance of divers colors, which many of our couturieres would vehemently exclaim against. What may now be looked upon in a similar light, is the great licence that is given to every conceit, and which many are afraid will tend to the deterioration of taste generally. We have too good an opinion of our national taste, improved as it confessedly has become of late, to regret any such circumstances, and feel confident that if any attempt were made to introduce a mode utterly repugnant to good taste, it would not for any length of time gain the general sanction, though we have frequently seen an example of the most preposterous kind from quarters where we naturally look for something that should govern the rest of the fashionable community. We may at this time refer to our illustrations of fashionable costume, without the fear of ridicule from the cynical or reprehension from the austere, and though we may fail to please those who care for nothing that is not "new"-let the style that is indicated be ever so good, the good sense of the majority will not be appealed to in vain, while we promise that our assiduity will not be relaxed in producing such new designs as will without question unite merit with novelty.

We subjoin some descriptions of dresses that we think adapted for the present season, and adopted among the first circles.

Dresses, as well as the mantillas, are made during the continuance of the warm weather, more off the neck,

those called à la Cauchoise are very pretty and have a very dégagé appearance quite in keeping with the present style.

A batiste wristband, bordered with a narrow lace edging is fixed round the sleeve, the dimensions of which are not equal to what they were.

A dress of iced gros de Naples, pale lilac ground, made à la Vierge with a wristband, kerchiefs à la paysanne of embroidered tulle, trimmed with lace-rice straw hat,; prunella boots similar color to the dress.

Organdi wrappers lined with silk are as much as ever worn; these negligé dresses, require equal care and attention with the most complete dress costume, and have when well and tastefully made, (and above all when not overloaded with ornament) a most captivating effect.

ENSEMBLE DE TOILETTES.--At the Wood of Lagrange near Brunay, a fête was lately held, which though not on the scale of magnificence of Longchamps, resembles it in being held annually, aud in having changed from a ceremony of religion to one of fashion. The fete des Carmelites, was on this occasion honored by a great portion of the rank and fashion of Paris, and rich equipages were profusely seen in all directions. White predominated in the dresses, which were principally of muslin or batiste. They for the most part

assumed the form of redingotes, caught up either before or at the side, by rosettes, of white or delicately shaded silk; some en tablier, others closed in the manner of a dress costume, were enriched by embroidery which ornamented the tablier or redingote. Some corsages were remarked, entirely laid in minute folds. A few batiste dresses, had under-dresses of colored silk, but by far the greater number were white. The dresses of muslin had jupons of gros de Naples.

Italian and rice straw were the only materials for hats, and they are on the encrease in point of size, feathers were the ornaments used, except inside the brim, where ivy garlands, ears of corn &c., were plentiful.

For children, frocks are shorter than they were last year, white frocks as well as trowers are trimmed with dented lace. Garlands or bouquets are frequently embroidered about the hem. On gingham or jaconot dresses, seven or eight little folds are frequently placed. Tuscan or straw hats are very applicable for young people, and are very often trimmed with blue, green, or rose-colored Indian silk ribbons. They are also ornamented with lace.

Bird's-eye silk is much used for boots and is extremely becoming.

HATS, CAPS, &c.-Hats are somewhat larger, more elevated in the brim, and wider than usual, though the variations depend on taste.

In the choice of Hats unless exact dependance is to be placed on the marchande des modes, a dependance justified by experience of what is most becoming to the wearer, particular care should be taken that the precise shape should be delivered that has been made choice of, the difference of character that is given by the slightest deviation would never suggest itself to one not accustomed to view such matters with critical nicety. This will be well understood by persons of taste, but it is a subject on which we can only generalize, and must be mastered by repeated observation aided by just discrimination and good taste.

Drawn capotes prevail, of blue or rose color, of a pale shade, frosted, ornamented with fringed ribbons, and half veils of lace, some with branches of delicate flowers.