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dark hair wreathed around her head and fastened with a bodkin to the summit, and a scarlet mantle wrapped around her.

Now-a-days, the toilet of a lady is exactly conducted upon the principles most becoming to all ; few figures look ill in the sweeping robes and lengthened corsage --- ample and stately, without stiffness; ankles, however thick, are concealed by the long dresses, now the mode. Features, however coarse, can be softened and shaded into something like symmetry, by the judicious arrangement of locks, permitted to be worn in bands, or braids, or ringlets, just as best suits the face they surround.

And while no arbitrary fashion forces the exposure of a frightful profile, a clumsy arm, a ponderous ankle, no rule exists to prevent the reverse of these being shown. Every lady is at liberty to bring out her own “good points” as she thinks best, and it is easy to do so, as well as to conceal her weak ones, without departing from the fashions that prevail.




“I cannot stop to alter words once written."

READER, did you ever go
Where the ladies meet to sew,
Needle, thimble, thread in hand,
Old and young, a happy band ?
Take a seat and hear the chat,
Now of this and then of that
Shoes or sofas, songs or bread,
Books or dresses, lace or thread.
The last wedding and the bride,
And a little world beside,
Works of genius, gems of art,
Every thing must have a part !
Then just see the fingers fly
'Mong those threads of every dye;
Here a fadeless flower is blooming,
There, a bud no worm 's consuming !
Pray, sir, would you like to buy?
Here's a purse you'd better try ;
Filled with Benton-mint-drops fair,
It will make you music rare ;
Or, perhaps, you'd like this guard
Fairy fingers labored hard,
Knot by knot, the silk to tie;
Come, sir, you had better buy.

Hark! the door-bell - who is there? “ Ladies,

- Esquire.” Then's renewed the merry hum; Gayly welcomed as they come, Father, brother, friend, and lover, Dick, the statesman, Will, the rover, Help to swell the careless ring, Laugh or chat, or sigh or sing. Time hath wings, the sages say ; Sure to-night he would not stay ; Soon, full soon the hour's come round, And we all are “homeward bound.” Here's a melee, - great and small, Thronging through the entrance hall ; But the night is dark at best, So, kind reader

guess the rest.


Few rightly estimate the worth
Of joys that spring and fade on earth;
They are not weeds we should despise,
They are not fruits of paradise,
But wild flowers in the pilgrim's way,
That cheer, yet not protract his stay –
Which he dare not too fondly clasp,
Lest they should perish in his grasp ;
And yet may view and wisely love,
As proofs and types of joys above.




Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame!

A draught that mantles high,
And seems to lift this earthly frame

Above mortality.
Away! to me, a woman, bring
Sweet waters from affection's spring.

Thou hast green laurel leaves, that twine

Into so proud a wreath ;
For that resplendent gift of thine,

Heroes have smiled in death ;
Give me from some kind hand a flower,
The record of one happy hour !

Thou hast a voice, whose thrilling tone

Can bid each life-pulse beat,
As when a trumpet's note hath blown,

Calling the brave to meet :
But mine, let mine, a woman's breast,
By words of home-born love be blessed.

Fame, Fame! thou canst not be the stay

Unto the drooping reed,
The cool fresh fountain in the day

Of the soul's feverish need :
Where must the lone one turn or flee?
Not unto thee 0, not to thee !


WHEN the day of life is dreary,

And when gloom thy course enshrouds, When thy steps are faint and weary,

And thy spirit dark with clouds, Steadfast still in thy well-doing,

Let thy soul forget the past ; Steadfast still the right pursuing,

Doubt not! joy shall come at last.

Striving still and onward pressing,

Seek no future years to know,
But deserve the wished-for blessing ;

It shall come, though it be slow;
Never tiring - upward gazing -

Let thy fears aside be cast, And thy trials tempting, braving,

Doubt not! joy shall come at last.

His fond eye is watching o'er thee

His strong arm shall be thy guard
Duty's path is straight before thee;

It shall lead to thy reward.
By thine ills thy faith made stronger,

Mould the future by the past
Hope on then a little longer!

Doubt not ! joy will come at last.

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