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of a friend," interrupted Loffmann, and he tore the ent, thank heaven! from one I have now in my eye, I will generously confess here, that Fane has not a letter in pieces. whose very dress-coat, and choker, and boots were bald head, and I think he would not ill-treat his wife. Ritter beheld him with astonishment: Florence unusually loud, to say nothing of his manner; one Willis was a fat, white, sleepy fellow---like a broken clasped her hands. who was not, and, I dare be bound, is not aware that seal, not at all likely to make a good impression. Boiste-for his information, a French writer-has Fane was a bit---and a good bit---of a rake, much insaid: "Tirer vanité de quelque chose c'est prouver clined to be ultra in fashion, a loud, impudent fellow, qu'on n'y est pas accoutumé," and I will venture to and pretty good-looking; that sable cloak of his say that, in spite of his fuss, with him an evening especially---but no, no; sit still, my soul. party was a rarity-bah! that a woman could be so blind as to prefer him—his name, I can hold out no longer, was Fane-prefer him to me! But women cannot distinguish between the good and the bad, and that accounts for the wife-beaters and the wives beaten. They ought to take care.

I am afraid I am writing somewhat disjointedly, but what of that?---neither Junius nor Addison would have been models for style---unless it were a disjointed style, if they had suffered what I have, if they had written in such a state of mind as that in which I write as I think of my misfortunes. I merely wish to say, that I looked upon Willis as a contemptible, unfearable rival, and upon Fane as rather dangerous.

I saw how it would be before I had been at Mrs.
"How?" asked Michael, astonished.
Croole's a quarter of an hour. I knew that I should
"By enabling friends to become brothers."
retire to my bed deeply, madly in love as usual, but
Ritter smiled, as Florence hid her blushing face in as yet I had no idea as to who was to be the object

his bosom, and held out her hand to Loffmann.


Fane danced with her, and so did Willis. Upon the former I cast a glance occasionally, in my proof my adoration. Amid such a throng of bright, miscuous manner the latter I scarcely deigned to happy eyes and cheeks, maddening arms and throats, regard at all. I saw that Miss Chapman smiled when and beautiful cerise dresses, I was like a thoughtful he spoke, and chatted agreeably with him; but this I bluebottle newly arrived at a butcher's shop-I did attributed to the good nature of a sylph pestered by a AT T the commencement of my present little story, not know upon what or upon whom to fix. But bore. Although she appeared indifferent to Fane, I it appears necessary I should inform my when I had concluded that long polka with her, thought there might be some assumption of indifferreaders that I am of a singularly sensitive, suscep- during which we talked-she so feelingly!—of Cole-ence there, for I feared him. Results have proved tible, amorous disposition—I have been so from my ridge's "Love" and Tennyson's "Lord of Burleigh," the correctness of my judgment. With every moment the pangs of love increased, very cradle. My whole life has been one perpetual I was determined to marry Miss Chapman, and to love falling quickly in love, and as quickly falling out of her to my dying day. In a moment I had forgotten and yet with every kind glance I received from her it. The strength of the first trait would lead me to that my own income did not exceed a paltry two eye-and such glances were many-my hope grew suppose that I was in some way or other descended hundred a year, and-believe me—that she is worth stronger. For the whole of that night I was in from Romeo and Juliet; the fatality of the second, two thousand pounds per annum. I thought of dream-land-dreaming of marrying her, with Fane that I was a near relative-of whom shall I say? nothing, indeed, but love and strange mixture you looking helplessly and distractedly on, while Willis went to drown himself-of angels and cherubs, of of any ill-used vagabond you like, who would have will say, oh man of the world!-marriage. been a respectable citizen and the "father of a The polka ended, I of course clung to her all Thompson's and Wallack's, of Niblo's and Mafamily," if men and circumstances would only have I could, and I flattered myself she clung to me; and retzek's Opera, as usual; and by the time the last permitted him. How very few are treated accord- when it was announced that a waltz was next, and guests were preparing to depart, and Miss Chaping to their deserts! If I had been treated accord- the waltz one that I may truly and emphatically call man and I, and Willis and Fane were of them, I felt ing to mine, I should have married an angel years my own, it being inscribed to me "The Dower doubly heroic, and thrice armed to work my way to ago, had various little cherubs around me now, had Polka," composed and dedicated to his friend Alfred the empire of love—and thereby hangs my tale. plenty of money, which I should have spent at Dower, Esq., by George Drax; you are doubtless Thompson's upon the angel and the cherubs; well acquainted with it-I immediately requested the and I should be expending one half of my time in pleasure of dancing it with her, for here was a feather And I did caressing them, and the other half with the angel in my cap I was determined to wave. at evening parties, at Wallack's Theatre, and Ma- waltz with her, and I informed her how closely allied retzek's Opera. This would be just to my taste, I and the waltz music were-in my quiet unruffled and-for the greatest crime I ever committed was style, as though I were used to such things. once to steal the pocket-handkerchief of one who had ravished me, and to offer to deny the fact on oath when afterwards charged with it (I had fallen out of love again then) par conséquence my deserts. Hamlet asks, who would escape whipping if all had their deserts? and I have no hesitation in saying that Alfred Dower--that's my name-would.

I think about half a dozen of us had secured our hats, and over-coats, and cloaks (oh, d―n those cloaks!) and what not, and were just descending the staircase. I was on the landing, Miss Chapman was near me, and Fane was not far off, while Willis was half-way down-when suddenly the lamp went out,

and left us in the dark. In an instant a tumultuous

But I soon received convincing, yet unpleasant, proof of the excellence of my taste. I was told that the flower I had chosen from a score of flowers could be admired by other eyes than mine. I had hardly had time to feel myself in love with Miss Chapman, before I discovered that Fane was in love with her too; and I had no sooner taken my eyes off Fane Another virtue of mine is, that whenever I re- than I found that Willis had his eyes set on mon ceive an invite out to dine, or to an at-home, or to ange, like a man that was sea-sick gazing on the anything you like, I always give an answer directly; boatswain. Well, I am not a coward. I was inand therefore, when on the 3d of last December I clined neither to despair nor faint. If I had some opened a pink note—that is a note on pink paper-slight desire to thrash them both for their audacity, scented, from Mrs. Croole, requesting the honor-or that was a little weakness with which I am sure the favour, I forget which-of a little party at her gentlemen will not find fault, and at which I hope house on the 5th, I cast my eagle eye around, and ladies will wink; yet I neither fainted, nor fought, finding I had no engagement whatever for that night nor despaired, but preserved that quiet, neat style, I instantly dropped her a line, written in the most which I believe I mentioned before, and which is aristocratic, unreadable hand I could command, natural to me. Yet I was not comfortable. I cared saying that I should be most happy, et cetera. little or nothing about Willis, the sea-sick gentleman, I went for I always do what I promise-another but Fane occasioned me some uneasiness; not but I went ; and I wish I hadn't gone. I went that he was infinitely inferior to myself, but, as ual quiet, neat style, different, very differe- I just remarked, women cannot distinguish. But

"Yes," continued the young man, "I came in here as a guest, and I will not remain as an enemy. He who has received me so kindly shall himself be the arbiter of our rights."

"Me!" cried Ritter. Ah! if I could choose!" Loffmann turned a look full of tenderness on Florence, who cast down her eyes; then taking Michael's hand


"Is it for her who began our friendship to tie the knot which shall bind us to each other, and render our division of rights more easy," said he.

throng of images flitted across my brain-Romeo
and Juliet, Abelard and Héloïse, Faint Heart never
won Fair Lady, Here goes!-and with my usual
quickness of thought, I turned to the spot where
she was standing when I last saw her, and seized
the fair object in my arms. Immediately its arms
were thrown around my neck.
"Dearest!" I passionately whispered.
And it was answered-" Angel!"

I had not expected quite so much as this, and was so much the more delighted. I hugged the mantled form more closely, and was just placing my lips to those lips, when Brills, who was a great smoker, had lit a match and the lamp, and showed me that I was embracing Fane, and showed Fane that he was It also showed us that, at the foot embracing me. of the stairs, Willis had hold of Miss Chapman's hand making love, while she was smiling and blushing, apparently well pleased.

But this was not the end. She cared nothing about Willis; that was all a joke; and she is now going to marry Fane.



IT T must be conceded that, taken altogether, our

American ladies dress well.

They will com

pare favorably with the best dressers in the world
the French; and their taste is far superior to that of
the English women. And yet how much bad taste
in ladies dresses do we continually encounter? The
great prevailing fault is an excess of ornament and a
fondness for overdressing for the street. It is won-
derful, the accumulated mass of things they pile
upon themselves, the flowers, feathers, ribbons, orna-
ments, jewelry, the variety and contrasts of color,
which combine to constitute a lady's dress. We
will not stop to speak of the low bodices and unco-
vered arms so common in our streets, except to say
that this style of dress is manifestly improper for the
street or the promenade, however much it may add
to the brilliancy and effect of the drawing-room.
Our present object is merely to allude to the general
fondness for excess of ornament.


-THE last new thing that is most talked about
In a little pamphlet, recently published,
in town circles and country circles, is Mrs Stephens' giving a history of American poets and poetry, we
Fashion and Famine." We have already given our find some amusing samples of the poetry that used
readers a critique on this admirable book, but we to please our ancestors. The first book printed
have been permitted to see a private letter from a dis- among the pilgrims of New England was a version
tinguished Southern literary lady to a friend in this of the Psalms, the joint labor of three worthy gentle-
city, in which occur a few remarks on this volume men. Here is a specimen of its style in the follow-
so excellent in many ways that we have obtained ing verse :-
permission to publish them :-

Now, however beautiful in itself, viewed disconnected with the wearer and apart from the human face, a bonnet may be; however elegant in form, color, or ornament a shawl, or a mantel, or indeed any article of dress may be, the very attractivenessing and beauty which these articles in themselves possess, detract from and help to weaken the natural beauties and charms of the wearer. An artist can understand this principle well, because he knows that one grand secret of his art is to obtain effects by contrasts. Whatever is most powerful and brilliant will overshadow and destroy that which is lesser. A lady once thoroughly appreciating this principle cannot but perceive that by excess of dress she is simply made a victim, and to the full proportion of that which her dress excels in beauty, she of herself loses in beauty. She thus becomes an injury to herself

heighten, to set-off, to add to the attractiveness of the wearer; and if this object is lost sight of in an admiration for the foil rather than for the gem itself, —in a fondness for that which ornaments in its abstract self, then dress ceases to fulfil its mission.

"There is a profound and painful interest in the character and position of Ada that overshadows the whole novel, and

casts into obscurity others of the story which, with a more

commonplace heroine, would shine out with great distinct-
ness and brilliancy. There is the deepest beauty and pathos
in Florence and her surroundings, and her story would
engage all o ir thoughts were we not most painfully fascinated
by the tragic interest that invests Ada Leicester. Jacob
Ada. And Mrs. Gray is delicious. And after one's nerves
Strong is admirable. He is just the man to be placed near
have been strained to the snapping by Ada, it is just delight-
ful-no, not delightful-we can't be delighted so soon-Ada
has made us too sad-but it is most refreshing and consoling
to be spirited away from the darkness and the shadow, to
Mrs. Gray's sunny country home, and the old trees, and the
dahlias and chrysanthemums. The old couple are beyond
praise-they are the Christian heroes and martyrs of the
book. And except the Bible, I have never read anywhere so
sublime and beautiful a moral scene as the temptation in the

Florence was a broken flower that no binding up and water-
condemned cell. But I think it should have been a tragedy-

could ever restore to life and bloom; Ada a splendid
ruin-her life spoiled beyond restoration by anything but

At a later date, one Joel Barlow attained quite a notoriety, principally from a very stilted affair called The Columbiad. But his best poem was one on

“How she haunts one-that Ada of the flaming heart-Hasty Pudding, which he opens in this wise :—

with her deathless, burning and consuming love that had out-
lived all the chances and changes of life, and time, and
reparation, and sin and sorrow.



past--look not behind after it.

"Remember Lot's wife."

Remember Haydon and his "grand style." Contrast him
with his contemporary, Wilkic. Haydon with his great
heroic subjects, such as the "blind Belisarias," "Banish-
ment of Aristides," &c., lived in hopeless debt and diffi-
culty, and died by his own hand. The taste of the
people were for "ca' fingers," "cottage windows," "cat
paws." &c., and the result was, that of the two artists, the
greatest one remained “ poor Benjamin Haydon," while the
lesser became "Sir David Wilkie!"

And there is a vast difference, too, in the capacity of different ones for adornment. Some require much, others will scarcely bear it at all. Hawthorne admirably illustrates this idea in a description of one of his characters-Priscilla, in "The Blithedale Ro-wonderfully successful. We are glad of this, bemance." He says:-" She was a person who could

We understand that "Fashion and Famine" is

cause the book deserves it, and because Mrs. Stephens
deserves it. We certainly hope that its success will
ensure a golden reward to that estimable lady.

be quite obliterated, so far as beauty went, by any

thing unsuitable in her attire; her charm was not
positive and material enough to bear up against a mis-
taken choice of color, for instance, or fashion. It
was safest, in her case, to attempt no art of dress; "To Isabel :"
for it demanded the most perfect taste, or else the
happiest accident in the world, to give her precisely
the adornment which she needed." We know of
ladies of this description, who seem to fade away by
the side of ornament, like drooping flowers.

But really, madam, we did not commence this paragraph with any thought of a dissertation on dress. We know our hopeless ignorance of the matter, and the utter absurdity of any of our ex pretending to dictate on such a subject. And yet, madam, there may be a hint or two we've thrown off which will prove suggestive to you.

"I hope, indeed, the work will have all the success it so well merits. The taste of novel-readers of this age, however, seems to be decidedly in favor of cant and cookery. And if

WHAT a study are the advertising pages of

you would only write a novel all about a perfect heroine who the daily journal! What insights into human nature,
talks of original sin, total depravity, the wrath of Heaven human follies and weaknesses they frequently afford!
and eternal perdition-and who prefers to fry cakes on a hot If one reads but curiously enough he can often see
stove, and doesn't mind the grease and smoke-why, your the beatings of the inner heart of humanity. We

and to the world. The true aim of dress is to book would go-like-hot cakes! But the age of heroism is clip a few recent curious advertisen.ents that are

very suggestive:—

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A CORRESPONDENT sends us an epigram,

The Lord's song sing can we ? being
in strangers' land, then let

loose her skill my right hand if I
Jerusalem forget."

"Some men pronounce my loved one fair,

Some prude ones think she is a swell,
But, to one and all I answer this,

Her name conveys her worth, she 18-a-bel(le),"

One Wolcott, of Connecticut, employed his pen to describe American scenes and events. But his descriptions are amusingly prosaic, as in this sketch of the Connecticut River :


"A shrew I ween you'v often heard of,

But greater shrew than theo Augusta,

I for one have never heard of

The cry is ever-Gracious! what A-gust-er ""

"The water's fresh and sweet; and he that swims
In it, recruits and cures his surfeit limbs.
The fisherman the fry with pleasure gets,
With seines, pots, angles, and his trammel-nets.
In it swim salmon, sturgeon, carp, and cels;
Above fly cranes, geese, ducks, herons, and teals."

In describing some mountains, he says:—

Twenty-four miles surveyors do account
Between the eastern and western mount."

"I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel,
My morning incense, and my evening meal;
The sweets of Hasty Pudding! come, dear bowl,
Glide o'er my palate, and inspire my soul,"

"Sophie! Could you but see the misery you nave created, it would touch even your heart. When the still, small voice of conscience awakens, let the thoughts of your child rea deserted be your punishment. Gratitude! affection!! Adieu, eternally, E."

The above was in a late number of the "London
Times." Here is another from the same issue:

"From Elsey to Edmund: Did you but know the immense

amount of mental sorrow you are causing to one who still
dearly loves you, you would at once desist from persecuting
her who is innocent of the vile charges your party have

so falsely accused her of, the characters of whom she is quite
prepared to fully show are basely vile. Remember our
children, and in God's name no longer persecute her who
vows herself innocent, and who loves you still. notwithstand-
ing all the past. Your relations oblige her thus to meet your
eye, as they prevent all correspondence. May the spirit of
the living God, that great heart-searcher, direct your heart
and your actions."

Still another from a later date, but upon a similar


"Sarah R. You are earnestly entreated to see your

And still another to "Augusta." He appears to be
rather fond of epigrams and his puns are rather—
well, well, Lamb said that the worst pun was always husband and your sister Elizabeth, and be reconciled. He
the best one:

accuses others of knowing where you are, and of preventing
your return."

Bold and honest this:

"Poverty and nonor? I'll not touch the money; it's stolen property. E. J. W."

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Fierce fire more durable than Etna's roar,

But "Julia" is by no means desirous of letting the A thousand groans ascend the skies, but the four winds subject drop. The letter from "Lewis" seems to


We append her com

have stirred her gall a little.
munication :-

THE Crystal Palace closes in October, when the building is to be sold. What a strange, eventful history it has been, to be sure. Beautiful as it is conceded to be, all worthy the praise of the artist or the critic, and all important to the artisan and mechanic, yet it has proved a disastrous financial failure. More disastrous than any other undertaking we remember of. Think of its stock falling from the high figure of one hundred and seventy down to five! Almost every one has his own pet reason to which he attributes its failure. But the reasons are manifold. Undoubtedly the delay and

MR. EDITOR-I'm not going to answer Mr. Lewis's nɔnsense about cabalistic words, Eastern enchanters and gorgeous dreams and all that kind of fol-de-rol, Neither am I going to compliment him on his puns. Some of them I'm quite sure I have seen before, and those I hav'nt are so bad they never ought to have been seen at all. But what I am going to call your attention to, Mr. Editor, is the following sentence from his letter which I wish you would print in big capitals:



Now sir, did you ever hear of cool audacity equal to that?
Was there ever such unblashing impudence? The idea of

Isn't there sublimity for you? Grand absolutely! the incompleteness of its opening were the main But do you, reader, perceive one advantage this causes; but we do not believe, with everything else extract possesses, which we are bold to say cannot favorable, that the citizens of New York would he claimed by any other poet dead or alive! It is have generally supported it in its present inconve-this. Begin to read it at what point you will, at nient situation. It was too much of a journey to the bottom, the middle or the top, the sense is reach it. There was too much of an undertaking equally clear either way. A triumph of art you necessary to visit it. People usually saunter into such places. They want them in the way of their usual


man talking about mutual forbearance and not living wholly for ourselves! Man' The most intensely selfish creature to be found anywhere, who thinks of nothing but his own

must confess.

comfort, and like a tyrant, as he is, compels everything and everybody, including us poor down-trodden women, to slave

and exist solely for his selfishness. O the monstrous impudence of this fellow! Talk to us, to us about "mutual for

THE theatres are preparing for the coming season, and most of them will soon be opened. Guila, Grisi, and Mario are not only positively to visit us, but by this time they are probably on their way across the Atlantic. Their engagement is with Mr. Hackett. Mr. Barry has just returned from England with a company for his Boston theatre. Of Mr. Wallack's and Mr. Burton's movements, we have not heard. The death of Mr. Lysander Thompson will leave a vacancy in Mr. Wallack's company which it will be impossible for him to fill. At the Broadway we perceive they will give us the "stars" in their due course, supported, we sincerely hope, a little better than they were last season. It is also to be hoped that some of our managers will have the virtue to give us a new play occasionally. For our part, we are heartily wearied of these old stereotyped affairs, that season after season are acted and re-acted upon our boards. We should like to have the power to forbid for ten years the acting of the "Hunchback," "Love," "Lady of Lyons," and sundry other plays of a similar cast, that occupy our boards nine-tenths of the time. Give us, Messieurs Managers, new plays, even if-O, dire necessity!— you should have to pay for them.

A NEW poet has appeared in England who will no doubt, wither the laurel on the young brow of Alexander. Do you doubt us, reader? We will convince you. Read this extract from a poem which he calls "The End :"

And breathe heaven's deflance

To the departure of war's most awful sound,
Which echoes ever and anon return,
Discordant as the breathings of hell's fiery flames.
Blood, death, and groaning agonies excite the element.
The fierce howling winds,

"But where religious awe and zeal display'd,

And valiant courage reigns alike in armies heart, oppos'd

In battle's desperate strife,

Ah! deadly is the scene, oh! sore misery,

Ah hell's ferocity the spectacle.-.

Through heaven and earth, deadly echoes rend the air, Fierce strife, hell's thunders and satanic sounds, volcano's awe,

Fire and blood-bred shrieks,

With foggy smoke as deadly as 'tis dark,

And flames tangible.

And groans bespeak the angry grave of strife,
For proud hosts unslain.

Thunders roll, fire's the reigning element
In deepest darkness clad.'

"JULIA's" letter on tobacco has not yet ceased calling forth responses. A correspondent walks. But to go to Forty-fourth street, to most peo- who acknowledges himself to be addicted a little to bearance," when it is just what we are always practicing ple, included the necessity of considerable preparation and Lewis " I presume is always preaching. And then he adds, "Let us be lenient to the little weaknesses of either

the use of the weed sends us a poetical rhapsody in
its defence which he clipped from an English Jour-

nal. It is called

and fore-thought. But the question now is-what is to become of the building?-to what uses, vile or otherwise, is it to be put? Can't some plan be devised to retain it here-to have it erected in some more central locality, and put to some use that would not be attended with great expense, and yet be attractive?

sex." I should like to know, sir, if your sex are not continually tantalising and tormenting us about our peculiarities. Don't I see in the papers every day fun made about our bonnets and our flounces and our skirts, and our rib bons, and our long dresses, and low bodices? And, do these trouble your arrogant sex, sir? Do they interfere with your comfort, sir? No! But because I venture to remonstrato against the use of a thing that is an intolerable nuisance to everybody-that makes your breath smell vilely, that soils our dresses, makes disgusting our streets, offensive the concert room, sickening our own houses, and intolerable the world-when I speak of this thing that has come upon the world like a blight and a curse, then you talk about "mutual forbearance!" I'm vexed, and I can't help it. These men would provoke an angel, and I'm sure my temper is called a good one.

But I was so glad to see Emily's letter. I want her though to tell her brother Charles that I'm not an old maid and nothing like one. As for the lawn dress I've had just such things happpen to me. O the horrid stuff!

Yours, anti-tobacco, for ever,


"Let poets rhyme of what they will,
Youth beauty, love, or glory-still
My theme shall be tobaces!
Hail weed, eclipsing every flower,
Of thee I fain would make my bower
When fortune frowns and tempests low'r,
Mild comforter of woe!

"They tell us that an angel's foot
First brought to life thy precious root,
The source of ev'ry pleasure.
Descending from the skies. he press'd
With hallow'd touch Earth's yielding breast,
Forth sprung the plant, and then was bless'd
Man's costliest treasure.

Throughout the world, who knows thee not!
Of palace, and of lowly cot

The universal guest.
The friend of Gentile, Turk, and Jew,
To all a stay, to none untrue,
The balm that all our ills subdue,
And soothes us into rest.
"With thee, the poor man can abide
Oppression, want, the scorn of pride,
The curse of penury.
Companion of his lowly state,
He is no longer desolate,

And still can brave an adverse fate,

With conscious worth, and theo!
"All honor to the patriot bold.
Who brought, instead of promis'd gold,
Thy leaf to Britain's shore.
It cost him life,-but thou shalt raise
A cloud of fragrance to his praise,
And bards shall hail in deathless lays
The valiant knight of yore.
"Ayo, Raleigh, thou shalt live, till Time
Shall ring his last oblivious chime,
The fruitful theme of story.
And men in ages hence shall tell,
How greatness, virtue, wisdom, fell,
When England sounded out thy knell,
And dimm'd her ancient glory.

And thou, O Leaf, shall keep his name
Unwither'd in the wreath of fame.
And teach us to remember,-
He gave with thee, content and peace.
Bestow'd on life a longer lease,
And bidding all our troubles cease,

Made Summer of December!"

JULIA. P.S. Mr. Editor, do you chew, or smoke, or snuff? If you do, my hope in man is gone for ever.

THE lady who sends us the subjoined letter, pleads so bewitchingly, that we might well be tempted to accede to her request :


OUT ON THE VERANDAH, TWILIGHT. My Very Dear Friend, Mister Editor.-Wont you allew me to make a suggestion? Certainly! I know your proverbial good nature and of course y" say, Certainly! I am every bit as sure you say certainly as if I heard you say so with my own ears; so, then, to come back to the point-which was my suggestion. Well. you. vaper is a dear. delightful love of a paper, but it has got une faultthere aint any deaths and marriages. That's a grea' mistake; for I do delight in deaths and marriages-and births! Can't you give us a weekly summary of all these pleasant items, printed in order, just as they occur in life? That would be so delightful' Do, that's a dear Mister Editor, and oblige one who loves to have a "Tete-a-tete" with you. KATE.

SIR CHARLES NAPIER, the commander of the Baltic fleet, gave recently, at a dinner party, this toast:

"Our Navy in the Baltic-the Bull-works of the English people!"

Very good, Sir Charles, very good! If you can't entertain us by a little fighting, why the next most acceptable thing of course is a good joke. So fire away, Sir Charles.

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T is with much satisfaction that the Publisher of this JOURNAL is able to announce that on the resumption of the Weekly Edition, with the last number, a large circulation was immediately obtained. Its beauty and cheapness were the subjects of general remark.


MR. DICKENS'S STORY, "Hard Times," (commenced in the May number,) approaches completion; and the Publisher, anxious to lay before his readers as large a portion of it as possible, publishes with this number


of eight pages, making the present issue equal to one number and a half.

ST. FLORE. This beautiful historical tale (commenced in the monthly number for July) will not be lengthy. It will be completed in about two months. THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND.

These popular and romantic historical sketches (commenced in the number for August, 1853) will be continued in at least one or two of the weekly numbers of each month, until the completion of the

LIFE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH, the publication of which will occupy several numbers.


will not constitute, in future, so large a portion of the contents of this periodical, the most of which will shortly consist of original


THE TETE-A-TETE, by the Editor will be regularly continued


The increasing interest manifested by the public at large in the beautiful and intellectual game of Chess, has, for some time, influenced the Publisher to the determination of devoting a portion of his columns, each week, to the special purposes of amateurs of that most rational and instructive of pastimes; and he has now the pleasure of informing his subscribers that, to such end, he has been fortunate enough to secure the co-operation of



well known as an accomplished Chess author and as the most skilful player inthe Union under whose sole charge the Chess Department of THE ILLUS TRATED NEW YORK JOURNAL will be placed.

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The first Chess Article will appear in the DOUBLE NUMBER for Saturday, August 26.

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In the DOUBLE NUMBER, a great amount and variety of contents, will be given, making altogether A MOST ATTRACTIVE ISSUE.


of great interest, will shortly be introduced.


A new and very amusing series will be given in the Double Number for Saturday, August 26.

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NO. 58. VOL. III.]


Guise, she had had sundry consultations with a man celebrated for his deep researches in astrology. He had long dwelt in the balmy clime of Andalusia, and had completed his studies among the Moors, who professed great skill in the art of reading, in the constellations of heaven, the hidden fate of mankind. He was a dark, mysterious, but impassioned astrolforoger,—a man of few words, and little known by the world, until Catherine, the Queen Regent, conde

scended to consult him on that which was written of her future in the stars.

It was indeed hard to gain the confidence of the crafty Queen; and Acevedo himself would have They had by this time reached St. Marcelline. failed but for the imposing nature of the art he prothe moon, now at its full, hung over the Auvergne that century, even by wise and cultivated men. Already the stars were bright in the firmament, and fessed, to which universal belief was attached during proposed to remain at St. Marcelline that night, and acuteness in the affairs of France at this juncture; mountains, and lighted the travellers' path. Gui Acevedo had moreover discovered an extraordinary here receive Maugiron's orders, as well as directions and having once won the Queen's favor, she sought for the conduct of the detachment to Orleans. In to draw the astrologer entirely over to her own intethe morning, accordingly, the captain collected the rests. Accordingly she loaded him with gifts, but "Allow me to ask one more question," said Gui, recruits together, and formally installed Gui as their not a little astonished was the proud woman to see interrupting the flow of Maugiron's eloquence. leader, placing the command during the march en- that he accepted but a small portion of them, return“You said just now that you had seen my old neigh-tirely in his hands, and enjoining on the soldiers ing the others to the royal donor with contempt. He bor, D'Arbèque and his daughter. Where might strict obedience. He then took his leave, his mis- would not, indeed, have accepted aught at her hands, this meeting have taken place ?" sion not being yet accomplished; and after intrust- had he dared to refuse; but for purposes of his own ing Gui with a letter to Coligny, he bade him a he had her confidence to gain, and for the sake cordial adieu, and continued his recruiting expe- of that greater reward, he was fain to accept the dition. lesser.

Gui spoke hurriedly, and with an earnestness which did not escape Maugiron's notice. "You live perhaps at the Castle D'Arbèque?" he inquired.



(Continued.) "Viole de St. Flore," returned Gui, whose whole

thoughts were running on Gabrielle, and on the remark which Maugiron had just made, that she was a pale maiden, and that he had seen her that day.

"Can you be related, then, to that noble statesman De Viole, who sacrificed himself for his religion and freedom?"

"He was my father," replied Gui, greatly


"Blessed be the hour in which I found you, then!" returned Maugiron joyfully; "for the father's devotion will be renewed in that of the son; and of such defenders our cause may well be proud."

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the army. You will have the conduct of at least a
hundred men, who are already in good fighting order,
and are waiting for me to rejoin them at St. Marcel-
line. Can you march with them as early as to-mor-
row morning? I would give you longer notice,
but it is incumbent on us to be ready for the ensuing

"Not so," returned Gui; "but if you will explain yourself, you may save me a ride thither."

Gui did not lose a moment after his friend's departure in hastening to take leave of Rabaud, who,

"I saw them, then, not far from Grenoble, in the notwithstanding his joy at the success of his ward's direction of Paris. The daughter—a lovely girl-project, could not refrain from some expression of appeared ill, for she was extremely pale." grief at the separation.

This proposal was quite to the taste of Gui; since Gabrielle was no longer within reach, he had

no desire to linger longer in the neighborhood, and
having no ties stronger than the affection of his old
friends, Salers and Rabaud, he at once joyfully ac-
cepted the captain's offer.

The time allowed for regrets was, however, brief. The hour for parting came. With many blessings, the good old people saw the young soldier depart, and Gui, throwing himself on his horse, was soon beyond the tearful sight of the worthy men, whose sorrow was only alleviated by the belief that the the assurance that he would frequently send them career of the youth was one of honor and glory, and out his regrets. He looked back more than once tidings of his proceedings. And Gui was not withto bid a mournful adieu to the peaceful hamlet where he had passed his early days in innocence and comfort, and a deep sigh broke from his breast, as, spurring his beautiful horse, he was soon far on the way to St. Marcelline.

Although Catherine of Medicis had interceded for Condé and his followers, and although she yet feigned to befriend the Protestant cause by tolerating their religious assemblies, a great deal of mystery still attached to her conduct. It should be remarked, that, before addressing the letter to Duke Francis of

In the meantime he lived in strict retirement. No one had access to Acevedo, and as he was not suffered to go out of the Louvre, Catherine flattered herself that the astrologer was heart and soul devoted to her and her cause. She gave implicit credence to his statements, and trusted him completely.

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