with a double row of flat ribbon bows, figuring epaulette on the shoulders. Similar bows hang from the extreme point of the corsage, as well as at regular in. tervals round the new Turban of Pompeian satin, the ends of which, fringed, are made to hang, one above, the other at the bottom of the turban, widening towards the side of the head.

FIGURE 11.-EVENING DRESS.-Tulle Dress, closefitting flat corsage, mantilla figuring epaulettes, with a rose and bud on the extremity of each shoulder, edged round with a small double ruche, short eleeves, undulating fold, terminated by a small ribbon nœud with long ends a treble ruche down the front figuring tablier, with thin roses placed at regular intervals. Coiffure ornamented with small flowers.

FIGURE 11.-EVENING DRESS.-Worked crape dress, corsage low cut, en pointe, with blond lace mantilla, short sleeves in double bouffans; white kid long gloves, trimmed at top with a ruche and two pendant endstwo rows of embroidery are placed on the brim, as well as down the front of the dress, which, with the work, figures tablier. A rich pearl ornament is placed in the hair, or bowed ornament on each side of the head, and over the side curls connected with a braid of the same across the forehead.

CRAPE HAT.-Elevated brim, small open shape, several long feathers, turned nearly over the front of the brim, ornament this hat.

FIRST CAP AND BACK VIEW.-Gauze cap, puffed all round the front, and ornamented with a small garland on one side of the face.

CENTER TURBANS.-Blond turban, ornamented with a bird of paradise feather-satin turban of two dif ferent colours entwined together.

MODES DE PARIS ET DE LONDRES. PUISEES AUX SOURCES LES PLUS AUTHENTIQUES. COMPRENANT UN CHOIX D'EXTRAITS DES JOURNAUX DONT LES TITRES SUIVENT:

"Le Follet, Courrier des Salons"--" Le Petit Courrier des Dames"-" La Mode"'---" Journal des Dames" &c. &c.

MODES.-Tout en ajoutant encore au luxe de toilettes d'hiver, déjà l'imagination se porte vers les nouveautés du printems, et l'on peut juger que les redingotes en jollies soieries, liserées de couleurs tranchantes, seront très à la mode. L'automme dernier a vu paraître nombre de ces redingotes qui forment de charmans négligés, et cette fois nul doute que le goût n'en devienne tout-à-fait général. Le raffinement de recherche pour ces costumes consistera dans l'élégance des jupons, qui seront brodés, garnis volans, de dentelles, etc. etc.; puis les élégances des collets, qui, par leurs broderies et garnitures, suffiront seuls à faire distinguer le bon goût et l'élégance d'une femme. La mousseline des Indes a surtout un type de supériorité qui n'échappe pas à l'œil exercé, et les dessins comportent aussi une distinction de genre et d'exécution qui assure la continuité de ce genre de luxe.

Les bals donnés cette semaine ont offert une telle fraicher de costumes, qu'il serait difficile de penser que l'on se trouve vers la fin du carnaval. Nous citerons quelques toilettes d'une élégance remarquable.

Une robe en velours grenat était ornée sur le devant

de deux rangées de nœuds formant tablier; ces nœuds se composaient de cinq coques de rubans de satin blane formant une rosette, au milieu de laquelle brillait une fleur en pierres de toutes couleurs. Les draperies du corsage étaient retenues au millieu et sur le côté par des rosettes semblables à celles, qui ornaient le jupon. Sur la tête un turban en gaze blanche broché en or et orné d'un aigrette blanche.

Une robe en crêpe blanc rappelait encore ce genre de parure, ètant ornée sur le côté d'une rangée de nœuds de satin blanc, dont le millieu était séparé par une agrafe ovale en opale entourée d'émeraudes. Le corsage drapé était ornée sur le devant par quatre nœuds semblables à ceux que nous venons de décrire. Les manches étaient composées de trois gros plis doubles en biais, et qui étaient pincés auprès de l'épaule par trois agrafes opale et émeraudes, tandis qu'ils s'élargissaient en formant éventail, et figurant ainsi une petite manche bouffante et soulevée qui laissait apercevoir dessous une seconde petite manche de crêpe collant sur le bras, et garnie au bord d'une blonde étroite et posée au plat. Sur la tête un petit chapeau castillan en velours vert, ornée d'une plume blanche sur la passe, et en dessous d'un bouquet de pierreries.

Une robe en gaze jonquille brochée en lilas et relevée d'un côté, un bas du jupon, par un bouquet de branches de lilas des Indes. Sur les épaules, des branches semblables qui retombaient sur les petites manches et les séparaient comme en trois parties. Draperies devant le corsage, et derrière une double ruche de tulle-blonde qui entourait le dos et s'arrétait sur les épaules. Pour coiffure, un cordon de lilas traversant le front, et arrêté sur le côté par deux boucles.

Parmi toutes ces toilettes nous citerons comme ensemble simple et élégant le costume dont nous offrons le modèle dans la gravure d'aujourd'hui. La robe en ve

lours plein vert émeraude était à corsage uni et manches courtes; sur le corsage une mantille de blond tendue jusqu'à moitié des epaules, et garnie tout autour par une double garniture en blonde. Deux nœuds de satin rose la fermaient sur le devant; le premier de ces nœuds placé au haut de la mantille, n'avait que deux coques sans bout, et le second, placé au bas de la garniture, avait des bouts flottans jusqu'à la fin de la taille. Le petit bonnet était entouré d'une blonde formant des coques, et entre chaque coque une coque de ruban rose; au sommet bouquet de rose trèmière s'élevait avec élégance. Gants blanc garnis de coques blanches.

Une femme très élégante avait une robe de velours vert émeraude; devant, partaient du bas deux rangs montant en tablier de nœuds de ruban de satin vert et de bouquet de marabouts blancs; des manches courtes en blonde avec des surmanches de velours vert ornées d'un bouquet de marabouts. La coiffure élevée derrière, bandeaux devant; dans les chevenx des marabouts, sur le front une magnifique plaque en emeraudes et diamans, une plaque pareille en haut du corsage drapé. Pour ceinture, une torsade d'or avec deux gros glands pareils,, Le corsage était à pointe, sans garniture de blonde. Une robe de crêpe blanc à grand ourlet; du bas de la jupe à droite, jusqu'à la ceinture à gauche, huit choux en ruban de satin couleur de rose, decoupés, placés à quelques pouces de distance; chou pareil à la place du bouquet au côté gauche, sur les manches courtes, au bas de la taille derrière rattachant la ceinture.

MISCELLANEA.

Angels. We must humanize every thing before we can love it. To fancy an angel rising in the east like a star, is making him too potent and gigantic. He must come near to us, and in our own shape; must be guarding innocence, or consoling adversity, or suggesting wisdom and sweeter thoughts to those who fancy themselves wicked, or conversing with the glad eyes and inarticulate raptures of infancy; for infants, when smiling and babbling to themselves, are supposed to be talking with angels. Even those beautiful gorgeous wings, in which he is invested by the poets, hardly seem to be an apparel in which he is to stay with us. They are for a sudden vision, a stoop out of the lustre of Heaven. It is remarkable that the painters have never given coloured wings to their angels. The temptation would seem to be great, the palette looks like a wing ready made, and yet they have not given it. No! the angel is the angel of one's infancy, the blooming white-vested boy with the spotless wings; and thus he is painted by the Guidos and Correggios. We think we see him now, looking out of one of their divine pictures, young, blooming, and innocent, natural as unconscious perfection, beautiful as truth. He is a boy on a noble scale, but still human; and his large curls are tawny with the noons of Paradise. An angel is the chorister of heaven, the page of martyrdom, the messenger from the home of mothers. He comes to the tears of the patient, and is in the blush of a noble anger. He kisses the hand that gives an alms. He talks to parents of their departed children, and smooths the pillow of sickness, and supports the cheek of the prisoner against the wall, and is the knowledge and comfort which a heart has of itself, when nobody else knows it, and is the playfellow of hope, and the lark of inspiration, and the lily in the dusk of adversity. All this we believe him, even should we hold his appearance to be a fable, and though we deny the letter of a thousand things, out of which we would extricate the spirit; for wherever there is goodness and imagination, there of necessity are thoughts angelical, winged indestructible hopes. The driest line of the geometer, if he knew all, were a wand of as much wonder as Prospero's; or, if it were not so, Prospero's itself were none, and our most exalted aspirations would still be as unwarrantable as the earth we touch. If anything unwise could be unpardonable, the only fault not to be forgiven were dogmatism; and yet where could an angelical thought exist, and forgivenesss not be discovered?-Leigh Hunt.

The French rose-gatherer presents a refinement in floricultural instruments highly characteristic of its origin. The general form of this little engine is that of a pistol: it has a handle and trigger like it, and a cutter in the manner of the wire pliers, or flower-gatherer, disguised as a barrel. A rod, answering to the ramrod, connects the pincers with the trigger, which last, being pressed, opens the pincers, that is, charges the pistol; the operator then presents the pistol to the rose to be gathered, and so that, when the cutter operates, it may separate it at the precise point of the stalk deemed proper; things being thus adjusted, the trigger is drawn, and the deed is done. Of course, this instrument, like a number of other horticultural toys manufactured by the Parisians, is chiefly pour les dames.— London's Encyclopædia of Gardening.

CHARACTER OF HAZLITT, BY CHARLES LAMB.-The following is taken from a letter of Mr. Lamb's to the Poet Laureat, which is very little known. A short passage, refer. ring to the friendship of Lamb and Hazlitt, from a recent article in the New Monthly, will explain the circumstances under which the letter was written :-"Their friendship was once interrupted by some wilful fancy on the part of the irritable and world-soured philosopher. At this time, Southey happened to pay a compliment to Lamb at the expense of some of his companions-Hazlitt among them. The faithful and unswerving heart of the other, forsaking not, although forsaken, refused a compliment at such a price, and sent it back to the giver. The character of William Hazlitt, which he wrote at the same time, may stand for ever as one of the proudest and truest evidences of the writer's heart and intellect. It brought back at once the repentant offender to the arms of his friend, and nothing again separated them till death came." This is the character in question:-" From the other gentleman I neither expect nor desire (as he is well assured) any such concessions as L. H. made to C. What hath sonred him, and made him suspect his friends of infidelity towards him, when there was no such matter, I know

not.

I stood well with him for fifteen years (the proudest of

my life), and have ever spoke my full mind of him to some, to whom his panegyric must naturally be least tasteful. I never in thought swerved from him; I never betrayed him; I never slackened in my admiration of him; I was the same to him (neither better nor worse), though he could not see it, as in the days when he thought fit to trust me. At this instant he may be preparing for me some compliment, above my deserts, as he has sprinkled many such among his admirable books, for which I rest his debtor; or, for anything I know, or can guess to the contrary, he may be about to read a lecture on my weaknesses. He is welcome to them (as he was to my humble hearth), if they can divert a spleen, or ventilate a fit of sullenness. I wish he would not quarrel with the world at the rate he does; but the reconciliation must be effected by himself, and I despair of seeing that day. But, protesting against much that he has written, and some things which he chooses to do; judging him by his conversation, which I enjoyed so long, and relished so deeply; or by his books, in those places where no clouding passion intervenes; I should belie my own conscience if I said less than that I think W. H. to be, in his natural and healthy state, one of the wisest and finest spirits breathing. So far from being ashamed of that intimacy which was betwixt us, it is my boast that I was able, for so many years, to have preserved it intire; and I think I shall go to my grave without finding, or expecting to find, such another companion. But I forget my manners-you will pardon me, sir-I return to my correspondence."-Examiner.

Flowers may be sent to any distance in a cylinder of tin, or other metal, about nine or ten inches in diameter, with a tube in the centre, to which they are tied as to a maypole. The tube unscrews, so as to be taken out and charged with flowers; and it is hollow, in order that it may be filled with water, for the purpose of preserving the flowers fresh. This ingenious utensil is the invention of Mr. Cooper, gardener to the Duke of Wellington, at Strathfieldsaye. (See Gard. Mag. vol. ix, p. 675.)—Loudon's Encyclopædia of Gardening.

It is remarkable, that in France, where there is but one religion, the sauces are infinitely varied, whilst in England, where the different sects are innumerable, there is, we may say, but one single sauce. Melted butter, in English cookery, plays nearly the same part as the Lord Mayor's coach at civic ceremonies, calomel, in modern medicine, or silver forks in the fashionable novels. Melted butter and anchovies; melted butter and capers; melted butter and parsley; melted butter and eggs; and melted butter for ever: this is a sample of the national cookery of this country. A sauce, made according to the principles of the art, excites and restores the appetite, flatters the palate, is pleasing to the smell, and inebriates all the senses with delight. We have often heard a noble patron, whose taste on the subject is indisputable, assert, that sauces are to food what action is to oratory. We would bow to a famous sauce-maker, as we would have done to Lord Byron or Sir Walter Scott; and amongst the immateriality of the soul, at the very fist line, we place "the prodigy of a perfectly well-made sauce." He was in the right; perhaps the wisdom and fertility of nature are not displayed with more splendour in the works of the creation, than is the genius of the cook in the composition of a sauce. Omnis pulchritudinis forma unitas est, said St. Augustine; therefore, there must be unity in every good sauce; there is a harmony of taste as well as of colours and sounds. If it were not so, why should not the organ of taste be wounded by one composition, and so agreeably flattered by another. Thence it follows, that more sagacity and taste are requisite than we are generally willing to allow. To appreciate a sauce, a delicate palate is as necessary to these kinds of cooks, as a refined ear to a musician. Father Castel wanted only fine scientific eyes to feel the harmony of his colours; and a skilful sauce-maker requires only an experi enced palate, to taste the harmony of the flavours of his ragouts.

Ude's plan for a ball is to ornament the sideboard with a basket of truit, instead of insignificant pieces of pastry, which are at once expensive in making, and objects of ridi cule to the connoisseur. Place in their stead, things that can be eaten, such as jelly, plates of mixed pastry, and sand. wiches of a superior kind; and if the founder of the feast be great and generous, avail yourself of his generosity, and make excellent articles. This is indeed sense.

No. 53.]

OR

A LEGEND OF PULCAHIL.

IN the county of Roscommon, a few miles eastward from Ballintubber, and perhaps as many southward from the beautiful and picturesque village of Castleplunket; on one of those broad pasture hills which, with interesting uniformity, undulate that county, the curious traveller may discover a large and almost circular pool, into which we must here particularly caution him against tumbling by any inadvertence, as it is a matter of the utmost uncertainty how far he may go before he can reach the bttoom-if truly, as the sagacious elders of the vicinity say--there really be any bottom" at all, at all." This point the learned reader must settle as he pleases for himself-we will only, as becometh a faithful historian, lay before him, with the most scrupulous accuracy, some facts which leave little if any doubt upon this deep subject. those facts nothing need be offered in confirmation-it may be enough to observe that they are handed down to us by that most unquestionable of channels-oral tradition. Some of them have occured within the memory of man, and of one, as the reader shall perceive, we ourselves are the unworthy witness.

Of

The earliest account of Pulcahil, or Charley's Hole, of which the tradition is distinct enough to deserve the name of history, does not reach further back than the beginning of the eighteenth century; before which period we must refer all its traditions to the fabulous ages of antiquity; though, of course it is to be inferred that this remarkable Hole must from the remotest period have been a scene of wonderful and mysterious occurrences. The legend with which we will commence this narrative is not so interesting in itself, as valuable for its being the earliest we have; and also from its supplying us with the derivation of the modern name of the Pool. We will, therefore, relate it briefly. A poor man, of whom all that can now be discovered is, that his name was Cahil, (the Irish for Charley) was plowing with four horses, near this Hole, upon some Saint's Day. What precise saint, it would be hard to guess; but it is certain that on the day of some great Irish Saint, Charley was plowing near this Hole, in defiance of the repeated warning of some female friend, who, from her pertinacity upon the occasion, is presumed to have been his wife.

It is cer

tainly known that the poor fellow, as is unhappily usual on such occasions, disregarded these warnings, though strongly enforced by some of those ominous dreams, which used, long ago, to usher in all fatal events. The consequences may be foreseen. With that infatuation uniformly characteristic of doomed persons, the poor man led his horses to the hill; and for some hours whistled away at his unlucky work as gaily as if nothing at all was to happen.

It was a little before noon, and the day was a clear

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grey quiet day I think in April-when my authority, the oldest man alive thirty years ago, but at that time a mere gossoon, come up to Charley, just as he was giving the horses a turn towards the unlucky Hole. "Bless the work," said the boy in his native tongue. "And you too," answered Charley.

"Arrah Charley is'nt it the unlucky day for you to be out upon the hill? Murtogh O'Flanagan saw the red cloud over the hole these three nights back, and he said in the village that something would happen this blessed day."

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66

Poor Charley looked as white as a sheet, and replied in a low voice, "Sure enough, Padeen Ruadth, others besides him says that: but I'll put up the horses after this turn, and give over the work for this day, any way. Run away like a good boy, and tell Watty Egan to be at the stable; and tell Malshe to put down the praties." Away I went," said old Paddy, "for he looked terrible ghashly, and he was going on just as if he could't help himself. Sure enough, then, I did exactly as I was bid, and every thing was ready for him at the house; but deuce a bit of Charley came. Well, then, the people waited and waited a great while out and out for him; and then poor Malshe began to be freckened alive, sure enough. At last the poor cratur called all the boys, and myself that was wid them. "Come along, Padeen Ruadth," she cried out," and all of ye's childers dear, let ye's be coming; we'll find him if he's above ground, any how." Well, away we wint, every mother sowl of us; and as we wint along every body in the town, big and little, that we met, came wid us, and every body said something to encourage the poor crature. Says one, O poor man, poor man, he's drowned for sartin, to be sure." "And sure I knew it, Malshe; and did'nt I see the red cloud," says another. But the poor thing would not be comforted. So on we wint, every step of the way until we saw the top of the hill forenent us; but not a Charley was there. Well, then, sure enough, a great cry began; and before we war half-way up the hill, there was the full of a race-coorse of all sorts with us. Well, then, we looked up and down on every side, but still there was no Charley to be found. But across the furrow, just a little way on from where I was discoorsin with him, there was a broad hollow track on to the hole, all the ways. Sure, then, no mortal ever saw the likes of it before. Throth it was just now as if poor Charley and the bastes were all pulling agin one another, there was such a trampling, and stamping, and marks of great struggling back, every fut over to the water side. Well, then, as we went on, the track grew deeper, just as if one of the bastes was threwn down, and there was grate splashes of blood, and some of the boys said there was marks of great big unnatherl feet. But no one said much at this time, for the people all was grately frightened, for the place had a very unnatherl look,