BY D. W. BELISLE.
COMA BERENICES.—This is a beautiful cluster of small stars, situated about five degrees east of the equinoctial colure, and midway between Cor-Caroli on the north-east, and Denebola on the south-west. The stars that compose this group are small, but very bright, and are in close proximity to each other; therefore the cluster is readily distinguished from all others. There is a number of small nebulæ in this assemblage, which give it a faintly luminous appearance, somewhat resembling the milky-way. The whole number of stars in this cluster is forty-three. It comes to the meridian on the 13th of May.
This constellation is of Egyptian origin. Berenice was married to Evergetes, King of Egypt, and, on his going out to battle against the Assyrians, she vowed to dedicate her hair, which was of extraordinary beauty, to the goddess of beauty, if her lord returned in safety. Evergetes returned victorious, and, agreeably to her oath, her locks were shorn and deposited in the temple of Venus, whence they shortly disappeared, and the king and queen were assured by Conon, the astronomer, that they had been taken from the altar by Jupiter and placed among the stars; and, to convince them of the truth of his assertion, pointed out this cluster, and
"There Berenice's locks first rose so bright,The heavens bespangling with dishevelled light."
"There Berenice's locks first rose so bright,The heavens bespangling with dishevelled light."
"There Berenice's locks first rose so bright,The heavens bespangling with dishevelled light."
"There Berenice's locks first rose so bright,
The heavens bespangling with dishevelled light."
This group being among the unformed stars until that time, and not known as a constellation, the king became satisfied with the declaration of Conon, who, pointing to the group, said, "There, behold the locks of our queen." Berenice was not only reconciled to this petty larceny of Jupiter, but was proud of the partiality of the god. Callimachus, who flourished before the Christian era, thus adverts to it—
"Immortal Conon, blest with skill divine,Amid the sacred skies beheld me shine;E'en me, the beauteous hair, that lately shedRefulgent beams from Berenice's head;The locks she fondly vowed, with lifted arms,Imploring all the powers to save from harmHer dearer lord, when from his bride he flew,To wreak stern vengeance on the Assyrian crew."
"Immortal Conon, blest with skill divine,Amid the sacred skies beheld me shine;E'en me, the beauteous hair, that lately shedRefulgent beams from Berenice's head;The locks she fondly vowed, with lifted arms,Imploring all the powers to save from harmHer dearer lord, when from his bride he flew,To wreak stern vengeance on the Assyrian crew."
"Immortal Conon, blest with skill divine,Amid the sacred skies beheld me shine;E'en me, the beauteous hair, that lately shedRefulgent beams from Berenice's head;The locks she fondly vowed, with lifted arms,Imploring all the powers to save from harmHer dearer lord, when from his bride he flew,To wreak stern vengeance on the Assyrian crew."
"Immortal Conon, blest with skill divine,
Amid the sacred skies beheld me shine;
E'en me, the beauteous hair, that lately shed
Refulgent beams from Berenice's head;
The locks she fondly vowed, with lifted arms,
Imploring all the powers to save from harm
Her dearer lord, when from his bride he flew,
To wreak stern vengeance on the Assyrian crew."
CORVUS.—This small constellation is situated east of the Cup, and may be readily distinguished by four bright stars of the third magnitude, which form a trapezium; the two upper ones being three and a half degrees apart, and the two lower ones six degrees apart. Algorab, the most eastern star of these four, forms the east wing of the Crow, and comes to the meridian on the 13th of May. Beta, in the foot of the Crow, is seven degrees south of Algorab, and is the brighter of the two lower stars; and on the left, six degrees west of Beta, is Epsilon, which marks the neck, while two degrees below it is Al Chiba, a star of the fourth magnitude, which marks the head.
This constellation is of Greek origin, and it is gravely asserted by their ancient historians that this bird was originally of the purest white, but was changed, for tale-bearing, to its present color.
"The raven once in snowy plumes was drest,White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast,Fair as the guardian of the capitol,Soft as the swan, a fair and lovely fowl;His tongue, his prating tongue, had changed him quiteTo sooty blackness from the purest white."
"The raven once in snowy plumes was drest,White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast,Fair as the guardian of the capitol,Soft as the swan, a fair and lovely fowl;His tongue, his prating tongue, had changed him quiteTo sooty blackness from the purest white."
"The raven once in snowy plumes was drest,White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast,Fair as the guardian of the capitol,Soft as the swan, a fair and lovely fowl;His tongue, his prating tongue, had changed him quiteTo sooty blackness from the purest white."
"The raven once in snowy plumes was drest,
White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast,
Fair as the guardian of the capitol,
Soft as the swan, a fair and lovely fowl;
His tongue, his prating tongue, had changed him quite
To sooty blackness from the purest white."
Apollo, becoming jealous of Coronis, sent a crow to watch her movements. The bird discovered her partiality for Ischys, and immediately acquainted the god with it, which so fired his indignation: that
"The color left his look,The wreath his head, the harp his hand forsook;His silvered bow and feathered shafts he took,And lodged an arrow in the tender breastThat had so often to his own been prest."
"The color left his look,The wreath his head, the harp his hand forsook;His silvered bow and feathered shafts he took,And lodged an arrow in the tender breastThat had so often to his own been prest."
"The color left his look,The wreath his head, the harp his hand forsook;His silvered bow and feathered shafts he took,And lodged an arrow in the tender breastThat had so often to his own been prest."
"The color left his look,
The wreath his head, the harp his hand forsook;
His silvered bow and feathered shafts he took,
And lodged an arrow in the tender breast
That had so often to his own been prest."
To reward the crow, he placed it among the constellations. Other Greek mythologists assert that it takes its name from a princess of Phocis, who was transformed into a crow by Minerva to rescue the maid from the pursuit of Neptune. One of the Latin poets reverts to it thus—
"For, as my arms I lifted to the skies,I saw black feathers from my fingers rise;I strove to fling my garments on the ground,My garments turned to plumes and girt me round;My hands to beat my naked bosom try,Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I;Lightly I tripped, nor weary, as before,Sunk in the sand, but skimmed along the shore,Till, rising on my wings, I was preferredTo be the chaste Minerva's virgin bird."
"For, as my arms I lifted to the skies,I saw black feathers from my fingers rise;I strove to fling my garments on the ground,My garments turned to plumes and girt me round;My hands to beat my naked bosom try,Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I;Lightly I tripped, nor weary, as before,Sunk in the sand, but skimmed along the shore,Till, rising on my wings, I was preferredTo be the chaste Minerva's virgin bird."
"For, as my arms I lifted to the skies,I saw black feathers from my fingers rise;I strove to fling my garments on the ground,My garments turned to plumes and girt me round;My hands to beat my naked bosom try,Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I;Lightly I tripped, nor weary, as before,Sunk in the sand, but skimmed along the shore,Till, rising on my wings, I was preferredTo be the chaste Minerva's virgin bird."
"For, as my arms I lifted to the skies,
I saw black feathers from my fingers rise;
I strove to fling my garments on the ground,
My garments turned to plumes and girt me round;
My hands to beat my naked bosom try,
Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I;
Lightly I tripped, nor weary, as before,
Sunk in the sand, but skimmed along the shore,
Till, rising on my wings, I was preferred
To be the chaste Minerva's virgin bird."
VIRGO.—This constellation lies directly south of Coma Berenice, and east of Leo. It occupies considerable space in the heavens, and contains one hundred and ten stars. It comes to the meridian the 23d of this month. Spica Virginis, which marks the left hand of the Virgin, is a star of the first magnitude, and is of great brilliancy, and, with Denebola in Leo, and Arcturus in Boötes, forms a large equilateral triangle, which, joined with Cor-Caroli, a star of the same brilliancy, at an equal distance north, forms theDiamond of Virgo. The stars in this diamond are of equal brilliancy, rendering it one of the most clearly defined and most beautiful figures in this part of the heavens.
This constellation is probably of Egyptian origin. A zodiac discovered among the ruins of Estne, in Egypt, commences with Virgo, and, according to the regular progression of the equinoxes, this zodiac must be two thousand years older than that at Dendera. This relic of the earliest ages of the human species is conjectured to have been preserved during the deluge by Noah, to perpetuate the actual appearance of the heavens immediately subsequent to the creation.
The Athenians also claim the origin of this constellation, maintaining that Erigone was changed into Virgo. Erigone was the daughter of Icarius, an Athenian, who was slain by some peasants whom he had intoxicated with wine; and it caused such a feeling of despair in Erigone, that she repaired to the wood and hung herself on the bough of a tree.
"Thus once in Marathon's impervious wood,Erigone beside her father stood,When, hastening to discharge her pious vow,She loosed the knot and culled the strongest bough."
"Thus once in Marathon's impervious wood,Erigone beside her father stood,When, hastening to discharge her pious vow,She loosed the knot and culled the strongest bough."
"Thus once in Marathon's impervious wood,Erigone beside her father stood,When, hastening to discharge her pious vow,She loosed the knot and culled the strongest bough."
"Thus once in Marathon's impervious wood,
Erigone beside her father stood,
When, hastening to discharge her pious vow,
She loosed the knot and culled the strongest bough."
ASTERION ET CHARA.—This is a modern constellation, and embraces two in one. It lies north of Coma Berenice, and west of Bootes, and comes to the meridian the 20th of May. Cor-Caroli is the brightest star in this group, and marks Chara, the southern hound. Asterion is north of this, and is marked by a small star about three degrees above Cor-Caroli. These two hounds are represented as chasing the Great Bear around the Pole, being held in a leash by Bootes, who is constantly urging them on in their endless track. The remaining stars in this group are too small and scattered to excite interest.
URSA MAJOR.—This constellation is situated between Ursa Minor on the north, and Leo Minor on the south, and is one of the most conspicuous in the northern hemisphere. It has been an object of observation in all ages of the world. The shepherds of Chaldea, Magi of Persia, priests of Belus, Phœnician navigators, Arabs of Asia, and American aborigines seem to have been equally struck with its peculiar outlines, and each gave to the group a name which signified, in their respective languages, the same thing—Great Bear. It is somewhat remarkable that nations which had no knowledge or communication with each other should have given the same name to this constellation. The name is perfectly arbitrary, there being no resemblance in it whatever to a bear or any other animal.
This cluster is remarkable for seven of its brightest stars forming a dipper, four stars forming the bowl, and three, curving slightly, shaping the handle. These seven stars are of uncommon brilliancy, and need no description to point out their locality. The whole number of stars in this group is eighty-seven, and it comes to the meridian the 10th of May.
Decorated Line
WEoften hear the expression used, when talking of anything comparatively useless, that "it's not worth a pin;" and from this we might be led to suppose, did we not know it to be otherwise, that a pin was a very worthless thing, instead of being what it is—one of the most useful that is manufactured in this or in any other country. As the use of pins is principally confined to the female portion of our community, perhaps the following short account of their manufacture, for which we are indebted to Knight's "Cyclopædia of Industry," a very useful book, may not be uninteresting to our readers:—
"Pins are made of brass wire. The first process which it undergoes, by which any dirt or crust that may be attached to the surface is got rid of, is by soaking it in a diluted solution of sulphuric acid and water, and then beating it on stones. It is then straightened; after which, it is cut into pieces, each about long enough for six pins. These latter pieces are then pointed at each end in the following manner: The person so employed sits in front of asmall machine, which has two steel wheels or mills turning rapidly, of which the rims are cut somewhat after the manner of a file: one coarse for the rough formation of the points, and the other fine for finishing them. Several of these pieces are taken in the hand, and, by a dexterous movement of the thumb and forefinger, are kept continually presenting a different face to the mill against which they are pressed. The points are then finished off by being applied in the same manner to the fine mill. After both ends of the pieces have been pointed, one pin's length is cut off from each end, when they are re-pointed, and so on until each length is converted into six pointed pieces. The stems of the pins are then complete. The next step is to form the head, which is effected by a piece of wire called the mould, the same size as that used for the stems, being attached to a small axis or lathe. At the end of the wire nearest the axis is a hole, in which is placed the end of a smaller wire, which is to form the heading. While the mould-wire is turned round by one hand, the head-wire is guided by the other, until it is wound in a spiral coil along the entire length of the former. It is then cut off close to the hole where it was commenced, and the coil taken off the mould. When a quantity of these coils are prepared, a workman takes a dozen or more of them at a time in his left hand, while, with a pair of shears in his right, he cuts them up into pieces of two coils each. The heads, when cut off, are annealed by being made hot and then thrown into water. When annealed, they are ready to be fixed on the stems. In order to do this, the operator is provided with a small stake, upon which is fixed a steel die, containing a hollow the exact shape of half the head. Above this die, and attached to a lever, is the corresponding die for the other half of the head, which, when at rest, remains suspended about two inches above the lower one. The workman takes one of these stems between his fingers, and, dipping the pointed end of a bowl containing a number of heads, catches one upon it and slides it to the other end; he then places it in the lower die, and, moving a treadle, brings down the upper one four or five times upon the head, which fastens it upon the stem, and also gives it the required figure. There is a small channel leading from the outside to the centre of the dies, to allow room for the stem. The pins are now finished as regards shape, and it only remains to tin or whiten them. A quantity of them are boiled in a pickle, either a solution of sulphuric acid or tartar, to remove any dirt or grease, and also to produce a slight roughness upon their surfaces which facilitates the adhesion of the tin. After being boiled for half an hour, they are washed, and then placed in a copper vessel with a quantity of grain tin and a solution of tartar; in about two hours and a half, they are taken out, and, after being separated from the undissolved tin by sifting, are again washed; they are then dried by being well shaken in a bag with a quantity of bran, which is afterwards separated by shaking them up and down in open wooden trays, when the bran flies off and leaves the pins perfectly dry and clean. The pins are then papered for sale."
Pins are also made solely by machinery. There is a manufactory for this sort (the Patent Solid Headed Pins, near Stroud) where nearly 3,250,000 are made daily.
A pin, then, is not such an insignificant article, after all. We see it has to go through a great many processes and hands before it is finished. If we take one, examine it closely, and mark how nicely it is made, how neatly the head is fixed on to the shank, how beautifully it is pointed, and how bright it shines, we shall see a very good specimen of what the ingenuity and labor of man can do upon a piece of metal. It is really surprising what a large number are made, and how many persons are employed in their manufacture. We read, some time ago, an amusing article from "Bentley's Miscellany," wherein the writer asks the question: "What becomes of the pins?" and puts forth the rather curious assertion that, if they continue to be lost and made away with as they are now, some day or other the whole globe will be found to be "one vast shapeless mass of pins."
In conclusion, we would recommend our readers always to bear in mind the excellent maxim which Franklin attached to a pin, namely, "A pin a day, a groat a year."
Decorated Line
IBEGto remind my daughter that the husband has a thousand elements of disturbance in his daily avocations to which his wife is an utter stranger; and it will be her privilege, and her title to the respect of all whose respect is worth having, to make his own fireside the most attractive place in the universe for the calm repose of a weary body or excited mind. The minor comforts, which are the most valuable, because the most constantly in requisition, will depend more upon her look, her manner, and the evidence of her forethought, than upon all the other occurrences of life.—Parental Precepts.
MR. GODEY: Miss Snipe left my house in great haste on the second day of April, forgetting, in her precipitation, several articles of her wardrobe and her portfolio. While waiting an opportunity to forward them to Wimpleton, a natural impulse of curiosity induced me to examine the contents of the portfolio, when, lo and behold, a letter, directed to yourself, fell on the floor. Being loosely folded and unsealed, I ventured to open it, supposing it merely a business communication. Imagine my surprise on discovering the nature of its contents, for I had been unable to penetrate the reasons of her hurried departure; but do not, I pray you, accuse me of having read itthrough.
Finding, as far as I proceeded, nothing very heinous laid to myself, nor any insinuations against my table, I judge proper to forward it without delay, according to the address. However, I can with difficulty forgive her for calling my boy a "cub," and think, moreover, that her dislike towards my Irish inmate is unreasonable. As to Mr. Sparks—I do not blame her so much—he has not yet paid me those gloves. And as to the writer herself, I am really astonished—we all thought her such a quiet and unobservant little body—on becoming acquainted with this spirited volley from her pen. Will there not be both laughing and wry faces in my household, if you publish it? And, though April is gone (I am sorry the letter was not sooner found), do give the world the benefit of her experience, to oblige and amuse
Yours, faithfully,HELENMASHUM.
April1, 1854.
MY DEARMR. EDITOR: Such a tumult as we have all day been in, by reason of that abominable practice of "fooling," has been enough to destroy the patience of a saint. I am nearly out of my wits. Here have I come, at my niece's invitation, to spend a fortnight with her, in a boarding-house. "She was lonely," she said; "Mr. Sparks was so much at the office; and it would be such a favor if I could stay with her a few days."
So I have come from my quiet country home, fifteen miles off, to this noisy town that calls itself a city, to visit Ann Sophia; and, between you and me, I was an April fool from the beginning. There are several other young married women boarding in the same house, who, like my flighty niece, have apparently nothing under the sun to do but go shopping and pop in and out of each other's rooms. Some of them are in her parlor every evening when she is not out at parties or lectures, and, as she spins street yarn every morning, I cannot for the life of me see what opportunity she takes to be lonesome. But I do see that she gives herself no time to keep her husband's shirts made up and in order; and I find that I have no lack of employment, for she has kept me sewing ever since I came.
"Sophy, dear," says I, the morning after my arrival, "give me some sewing; I cannot be idle, and have nothing but this knitting to do for myself."
Whereupon she brought out a whole piece of fine bleached cloth, and proposed that we should amuse ourselves by making it into shirts for her husband.
"Holton needs them so much," said she, "and you are so kind as to offer your services, aunty; it would cost so much to hire them done, and his salary is so small now, you know, and boarding so expensive."
And to work we began; but the truth is that it is very little which Ann Sophia has done thus far. Well, what is a single woman good for unless to make herself generally useful? A precious sight of twaddle have I read first and last in the papers and magazines about the delights and privileges of old-maidery. Delights of a fiddlestick! Pulled hither and thither, perhaps—as I have been—at the beck of married brothers and sisters, and a score of idle nephews and nieces; if you have a home of your own, not allowed to stay at it in peace for more than one week together. Sister Julia's children have all got the measles, and Aunt Abigail must go and take care of them; or brother Peter's wife is dead, and Abigail must pack up and go to keep house for him till she becomes attached to the motherless tribe, and feels quite at home among them, when he gets a new wife, and Abigail departs just as she begins to be happy. To crown all, when she puts her own house in order, and has a nice lot of sweetmeats and pickles made up, along comes a troop of relations, maleand female, young and old, to visit dear Aunt Abigail and eat up all her stores, to say nothing of completely kicking out the stair carpet. But I am wandering from my subject—a thing which I am apt to do.
The house is quiet now, and, having finished one of Holton Sparks's shirts this evening, I embrace the respite to retire to my own room. After all, I do not feel like scolding about Ann Sophia. The pleasant-tempered girl looks so much like her mother, brother Peter's first wife; I brought her up, too, at least till she was ten years old, when her father married again. Her chief fault is her youth, and she will get over that, dear child.
However, to return, I cannot sleep till I have expressed my indignation at the follies that have been perpetrated in honor—rather should I say, in dishonor—of All Fools' Day, hoping that you, Mr. Editor, will lift your voice in favor of putting a stop to such absurdities. In the first place, I had scarcely risen, when I was myself made the victim of imposition; for, while I was dressing, there was a rap at the door, and I heard Sparks's voice—
"Aunt Abigail, are you up? Here is a letter postmarked Wimpleton. It came by the night train, probably."
"As sure as fate," thought I, "there has something dreadful happened at home." And, being much agitated, I tore open the envelop in great haste, without observing that the superscription was not in brother Sam's hand, and wondering why Sparks did not wait to learn the nature of its tidings. As truly as I am a living woman, there was nothing inside but a great foolscap sheet, and on it these words, in staring capitals—
"APRIL FOOL."
I could have cried, so vexed was I at first. Then I felt thankful that no bad news had actually reached me; for, during the brief moment occupied in opening the letter, you can scarcely imagine the many terrible things that passed through my head. Mother had had a fit, fallen down and broken her leg, though brother Sam had promised me faithfully not to leave her alone while I was gone; or that stupid Dutch boy, who takes care of the cow and the fires, had left live coals in the ash-box, and the house was burned to the ground. Or Sam himself had got one of those severe attacks of inflammatory rheumatism, and nobody there but mother to take care of him, and take his fretting into the bargain, and she almost eighty years old. When I recovered myself a little, I took that wretched sheet of paper, and was on the point of penning a dignified expression of my sentiments below the odious words, and handing it in silent scorn to my nephew-in-law at the breakfast-table. But better feelings prevailed; I smoothed it nicely in my portfolio, and am now scratching this hasty epistle upon its surface, intending in the morning to write it more legibly on some of my own fair sheets of Bath.
A few among the follies of this tiresome day have, I must acknowledge, given me a certain sort of satisfaction. Holton Sparks has been come up with himself; not by any means of mine, I earnestly assure you, for, besides heartily despising it, I cannot in any shape perpetrate "April fooling." Sam often says that this is because I am so matter-of-fact; but, matter-of-fact or not, I trust that there is not enough matter-of-folly in my composition to attempt such performances. I always did abominate practical jokes, and Sam knowsthat;yet the jokes which that boy still puts upon me, though I am three years older than himself, would be deemed improbable.
Well, when the breakfast-bell rang this morning, I went down stairs with an air as erect and dignified as a woman of fif——no matter—with such a demeanor as one who has outlived the fooleries of early youth should make habitual. Holton Sparks is very fond of eggs, and invariably takes the biggest on the dish. I observed that our landlady directed the servant to hand them first to Mr. Sparks, who was too intent on securing his egg to notice her action. Indeed, he never hesitates to help himself first, quite regardless of the ladies who sit near, and even of Ann Sophia. Holton is a tremendous eater, seeming to think of nothing at table but disposing of his food as rapidly and in as large quantities as possible. The manner of this gentleman is to place a large piece of nicely buttered toast on his plate, pour the egg over it, pepper the whole thoroughly, and swallow it as if the preparation were some unpleasant dose that it is his duty to dispatch. Mrs. Mashum, who is altogether too much given to laughing, and too volatile for her station, sat behind the coffee urn shaking violently with suppressed mirth. He broke the shell of his egg as usual, when, behold, his plate was flooded with a dingy-looking liquid, which proved to be warm dish-water. On comprehending the joke, he sent it away with an offended air, and made his breakfast on beefsteak, without deigning to join in the universal laugh. It seems that last evening he laid a wager with Mrs. Mashum that she could not succeed in playing him a trick, heshould be so constantly upon his guard during All Fools' Day. The affair of the egg has put him out of humor to such an extent that we have been saved the infliction of any more jokes at his hands. He has worn his dignity all day, not even Ann Sophia succeeding in laughing or coaxing him into laying it aside. I rather think that he grudges the dollar which he will have to lay out for the gloves, as Mrs. Mashum has won the bet, and Ann Sophia assures him that a pair of her own will not do by any means. He proposed that expedient to settle the matter. Holtonisstingy. But his wife declared that such a good joke deserved a pair of Alexander's best. It is not because I approve of betting that I mention this, for I hold the practice in great abhorrence. It was only of a piece with the other follies of the day, and shows up Holton Sparks a little.
A small fire of fooling was kept up throughout the morning. If the door-bell has been rung once, it has forty times, by Mrs. Mashum's cub of a boy, who would jerk the handle or toss up his ball at the wire, and then run out of sight. In going from my own room to my niece's, I saw a sixpence on the floor, and, stooping down to pick it up, found it fast. Congratulating myself on not having been observed, I was passing on, when that disagreeable urchin shouted, from behind a door—
"April fool, old lady!"
He deserves to be sent to the House of Refuge.
Ann Sophia herself has put me out of all manner of patience by saying, as I sat sewing at the front window in her parlor, "Pray, Aunt Abigail, whose carriage do you suppose that is?" when no vehicle was in view but the milkman's. Or, suddenly, she would exclaim, "What ladies are those crossing the street?" when none were anywhere to be seen.
But the meanest of all was a very rude thing, which she repeated several times upon different persons, apparently delighted with its efficacy. This was to rush up suddenly, and screaming out, "See there!" throw her arm directly across one's nose with so much force as to oblige that organ to follow the direction of her outstretched finger, whether or no. Such a sort of fooling by compulsion struck me as particularly reprehensible.
"I'd try it on you, aunty," said the volatile child, "if I were not afraid of scoring my arm."
Such an insinuation against my nose! Had it been any one besides Sophy, I could not have forgiven the speech. She is such a highty-tighty.
But one trick which she played was really good, especially as its object was a man to whom I have taken a huge dislike. He is an Irish gentleman connected with some legal firm in town, most desperately polite, with a very long round nose and fiery red hair. He is continually poking dishes at me across the table, and is fairly oppressive with his attentions. Moreover, he calls me "Mrs." perpetually. "Mrs.," indeed! Intimating that I am old enough to be a "Mrs.," if not one in fact. As he rises very late, he never appears at breakfast with ourselves; but at dinner we have the misery of his presence. To-day, when we were almost through with the first course, he entered with an air much flushed and uncomfortable.
"Are you ill, Mr. O'Killigan?" asked Mrs. Mashum.
"No, thank you, madam," said he, with one of his customary efforts at politeness. "But I have been trying for a long while to shave, till forced in despair to give up the attempt. The deuce has got into my soap."
"You have forgotten that it is the first of April. The day may have had some influence upon your dressing-case," remarked one of the ladies present.
"I declare, I have not thought of that," said he, and, springing from the table, he ran to his room, returning with something which he begged the ladies to examine. It proved to be a thick, fair slice of a raw potato, in size and color so much like his own soap, which had been removed, that he had detected no difference, except that it refused to form a lather. This was the work of my mischievous niece, who looked at it very gravely, and remarked, with much demureness—
"I always knew that you Irish were fond of potatoes, but was not aware that you carried it to such an excess as to shave with that vegetable."
It would have better pleased me had O'Killigan been angry; but the Irishman took the joke, and all the speeches made at his expense, with entire good-humor, laughingly assuring the ladies that he would be revenged before night. And, as he knew not whom to suspect, he adopted a course which involved most of us in its consequences. When we retire for the night, those who are not better provided equip themselves with a candle, of which a supply stands ready in the lower hall. Such a fuss as I had with my light this evening! It went out as soon as I reached my own door; and, after relighting it several times by means of matches, the tallow was exhausted, and I discovered that the blackened remnant of wick was stuck into acarrot. That miserable Irishman had enlisted Biddy Flyn, the chambermaid, in his service, and this afternoon they spent two whole hours in the basement at their nefarious work, trimming off carrots and giving them a very thin coating of grease. Mrs. Mashum herself did not escape, for, just as she began taking her usual rounds to see that all was safe for the night, her treacherous light went out, leaving her in total darkness—in the lower regions, too, for she was on the point of inspecting a keg of mackerel in the cellar.
At this identical moment, having used up all my matches in vain endeavors to light a candle, which, like its manufacturer's locks, I had found to be carroty, I was on my way to the kitchen in pursuit of a more reliable means of illumination, when I heard Mrs. Mashum scream out—
"Bring a light, Biddy, for goodness sake! I shall step into this rat-trap that you've set, if I stir an inch in the dark."
And all the while the shameful Biddy stood holding her sides, and laughing in a most unreasonable way. Several persons were running along the upper hall calling for lights, the ladies in a sort of demi-toilet, and one of the young men, a dry-goods clerk, who dresses his hair with a curling-tongs, having on a black silk night-cap. But the real culprit did not suffer, after all, for Ann Sophia has her own solar lamp.
While these distressing events were transpiring, that mean Irishman, with his big nose and red head, sat in the parlor, as cool as possible, reading the "London News" by the light of a brilliant camphene lamp. I wonder his hair did not ignite and cause an explosion. It would have served him quite right.
Strange to say, Mrs. Mashum is not at all offended either at O'Killigan or his accomplice, but has enjoyed their mischief in a way to me utterly unaccountable. I suppose Sam would say that she knows how to take a joke; for my part, they are things which I do not wish to know how to take myself; I wash my hands of all participation in such knowledge.
I have obtained a lamp that shall last till I have finished this narrative of to-day's outrageous proceedings. On passing the parlor-door, I heard that disagreeable O'Killigan say to his landlady, in reply to some of her pretended threats of punishment—
"At any rate, my good Mrs. Mashum, you cannot arrest me for incendiary attempts; I have made such laudable exertions to put out the flames in the house."
Impudent fellow! I had a mind to say something about the blaze on his own head; but I forbore, passing on in offended silence.
Now, my dear Mr. Godey, set a good example, and lead the way in a reform of these abuses, as you have in so many other praiseworthy undertakings. Frown upon these April fooleries, especially as levelled at the peace and quiet of respectable single women. If my letter is too late to take effect this present season, please give it due notice before a twelvemonth hence. You will thus oblige and gratify your friend and constant reader,
ABIGAILSNIPE.
Postscript.I shall go home to-morrow, and finish Holton Sparks's last new shirt in the pleasant seclusion afforded by my own hearthstone. I cannot endure the thought of sitting at the table in this house any longer, opposite that dreadful O'Killigan, hearing him crack his dry jokes while he rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger. To be obliged to listen when he comments on the mishaps of this evening would surely set me into a nervous fit. It strikes me that I have read in one of Sam's old books—"Sal" somebody's writings—of an elderly lady who "died of a Frenchman." If I were to stay here much longer, I should assuredly die of this middle-aged Irishman.
Depend upon it, I shall not breathe a word to Sam of my trials at Sophy's boarding-house, in consequence of the inmates all making fools of themselves and me on the FIRST OFAPRIL.
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ANextremely intelligent boy, of about twelve years of age, was once brought to the late Dr. Deville, an English phrenologist, for examination, by a parent who was very proud of the intellectual endowments of his child. Dr. Deville gave his opinion of the boy's character, at the same time cautioning the father of the dangerous course he was pursuing. But the father's reply was, "All that other boys considered labor and hard study were merely child's play to him; and that his studies could not be hurtful to him—he enjoyed them so much." Again Dr. Deville endeavored to save the child, but the father would not attend to the warning. Two years from that time he again called on Dr. Deville, and, in reply to his inquiries about the child, burst into tears, and stated that the boy was an idiot.
LESSON V.
The outline of the stem and the curve of the scroll of Fig. 54 must first be drawn, the distances and proportions of the various parts being carefully observed. In sketching the scroll in Fig. 55, the eye alone will be the guide, the directions and distances of the various parts being marked off before filling in the details.
Four Drawing Figures 54 to 57
The method of drawing the rosette forming part of the scroll shown in Fig. 57 is displayed in Fig. 56, the circle being drawn first.
In sketching Fig. 58, the direction of the curve must first be ascertained, its due proportions noted, thereafter filling in the details.
The stem, leaves, flower, and buds of thewall-flower in Fig. 59 will afford an interesting example for practice at this stage of progress; the stem, its length and direction, should first be drawn, the position of the leaves, &c. marked thereon, and the details thereafter filled in.
Four Drawing Figures 58 to 61Fig. 58.
Fig. 58.
Fig. 58.
The sketch in Fig. 60, which represents the stem, leaves, and flower of the yellow crowfoot, will be drawn in the same way as above.
The flower of the honeysuckle in Fig. 61 affords a good example for free pencil-sketching. The stem should be drawn first, then an outline made which will touch all the exterior parts of the sketch, as in Figs. 44 and 52; the distances of the leaves should next be drawn on this, andthe details put in. The pupil should endeavor to copy this example correctly; it may appear very difficult, but, by a careful attention to the rules we have given, and a little determination to "try again," if perchance she should once or twice fail, the difficulty will soon vanish.
Four Drawing Figures 62 to 64Fig. 62.
Fig. 62.
Fig. 62.
The sketch in Fig. 62, representing a human foot, may be put in by first drawing the general outline, thereafter finishing the details. Figs. 63, 64, and 65 will be drawn in the same manner.
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BY MRS. MERRIFIELD.
WElook forward hopefully to a day when art-education will be extended to all ranks; when a knowledge of the beautiful will be added to that of the useful; when good taste, based upon real knowledge and common sense, will dictate our fashions in dress as in other things. We have schools of art to reform our taste in pottery, hardware, and textile fabrics, not to speak of the higher walks of art, painting, sculpture, and architecture. The handle of a jug, the stem of a wine-glass, the design for dress silks or lace veils, will form the subjects of lectures to the students of the various schools of design; disquisitions are written on the important question whether the ornamental designs should represent the real form of objects, or only give a conventional representation of them, while the study of the human figure, the masterpiece of creation, is totally neglected, except by painters and sculptors. We hope that the study of form will be more extended, that it will be universal, that it will, in fact, enter into the general scheme of education, and that we shall hereafter see as much pains bestowed in improving by appropriate costume the figure which nature has given us, as we do now in distorting it by tight stays, narrow and high-heeled shoes, and all the other deformities and eccentricities of that many-faced monster, fashion. The economy of the frame, and the means of preserving it in health and beauty, should form an integral part of education. There can be no true beauty without health, and how can we hope to secure health if we are ignorant of the means of promoting it, or if we violate its precepts by adopting absurd and pernicious fashions?
Surely it is not too much to hope that dress-makers will hereafter attend the schools of design, to study the human form, and thence learn to appreciate its beauties, and to clothe it with appropriate dress, calculated to display its beauties to the greatest advantage, and to conceal its defects—the latter with the reservation we have already noticed. We hope, also, that the shoe-maker will learn to model the shoe upon the true form of the foot.
Manufacturers are now convinced of the importance and utility of schools of design, and whether the article hereafter to be produced be a cup and saucer, a fender, a pattern for a dress or for furniture, for a service of plate or diamond tiara, it is thought proper that the pupil, as a preliminary course that cannot be dispensed with, should commence with the study of the human figure. Yet, is not dress an art-manufacture as well as a cup and saucer, or a tea-board? Are there less skill and talent, less taste required to clothe the form which we are told is made after God's own image, than to furnish an apartment? Why should not dressmakers and tailors attend the schools of design as well as those artisans who are intended to be employed in what are now called art-manufactures? Why should not shoe-makers be taught the shape and movements of the foot? If this were the case, we are satisfied that an immediate and permanent improvement would be the consequence in our style of dress.
We believe that many portrait painters stipulate that they shall be allowed to dictate the dress, at least as regards the arrangement of the colors, of their sitters; the reason of this is that the painter's selection of dress and color is based upon the study of the figure and complexion of the individual, or the knowledge of the effects of contrast and harmony of lines, tissues, and colors, while the models which are presented for his imitation too frequently offer to his view a style of dress, both as regards form and color, which sets the rules of harmony at defiance. Now, only suppose that the dress-maker had the painter's knowledge of form and harmony of lines and colors, what a revolution would take place in dress? We should no longer see the tall and the short, the slender and the stout, the brown and the fair, the old and the young, dressed alike, but the dress would be adapted to the individual; and we believe that, were the plan of study we recommend generally adopted, this purpose might always be effected without the sacrifice of what is now the grand desideratum in dress—novelty.
The reasons why the art of dressmaking has not hitherto received the attention which it deserves, are to be sought for in the constitution of society. The branches of manufacture which require a knowledge of design, such as calico-printing, silk and ribbon-weaving, porcelain and pottery, and hardware manufactures, are conducted on a large scale by men of wealth and talent, who, if they would compete successfully with rival manufactures, find it necessary to study and apply to their own business all the improvements in science with which their intercourse with society gives them an opportunity of becoming acquainted. It is quite otherwise with dressmaking. A woman is at the head of every establishment of this kind a woman generally of limited education and attainments, from whom cannot be expected either liberality of sentiment or enlarged views, but who possibly possesses some tact and discrimination of character, which enable her to exercise a kind of dictatorial power in matters of dress over her customers; these customers are scarcely better informed on the subject than herself.
The early life of the dressmaker is spent in a daily routine of labor with the needle, and, when she becomes a mistress in her turn, she exacts from her assistants the same amount of daily labor that was formerly expected from herself. Work, work, work with the needle from almost childhood, in the same close room from morning to night, and not unfrequently from night to morning also, is the everlasting routine of the monotonous life of the dressmakers. They are working for bread, and have no leisure to attend to the improvement of the mind, and the want of this mental cultivation is apparent in the articles they produce by their labor. When one of the young women who attend these establishments to learn the trade thinks she has had sufficient experience, she leaves the large establishment and sets up in business on her own account. In this new situation, she works equally hard, and has therefore no time for improving her mind and taste. Of the want of this, however, she is not sensible, because she can purchase for a trifle all the newest patterns, and the thought never enters her poor little head that the same fashion may not suit all her customers. This defective education of the dressmakers, or rather their want of knowledge of the human form, is one of the great causes of the prevalence of the old fashion of tight-lacing. It is so much easier to make a closely-fitting body suit over a tight stay than it is on the pliant and yielding natural form, in which, if one part be drawn a little too tight, or the contrary, the body of the dress is thrown out of shape. Supposing, on the other hand, the fit to be exact, it is so difficult to keep such a tight-fitting body in its place on the figure without securing its form by whalebones, that it is in vain to expect the stays to become obsolete until the tight-fitting bodice is also given up.
This will never take place until not only the ladies who are to be clothed, but the dressmakers shall make the human form their study, and direct their efforts to set off their natural advantages by attending to the points which are their characteristic beauties. A long and delicate throat, falling shoulders, not too wide from point to point, a flat back, round chest, wide hips; these are the points which should be developedby the dress. Whence it follows that every article of dress which shortens the throat, adds height or width to the shoulders, roundness to the back, or flatness to the chest, must be radically wrong in principle, and unpleasant and repulsive in effect. In the same manner, whatever kind of dress adds to the height of a figure already too tall and thin, or detracts from the apparent height of the short and stout, must be avoided. These things should form the study of the dressmaker.
As society is now constituted, however, the dressmaker has not, as we have already observed, leisure to devote to studies of the necessity and importance of which she is still ignorant. The reform must be begun by the ladies themselves. They must acquire a knowledge of form, and of the principles of beauty and harmony, and so exercise a controlling influence over the dressmakers. By this means a better taste will be created, and the dressmakers will at length discover their deficiency in certain guiding principles, and will be driven at last to resort to similar studies. But in this case a startling difficulty presents itself—the poor dressmaker is at present over-worked: how can she find leisure to attend the schools of design, or even pursue, if she had the ability, the necessary studies at home? A girl is apprenticed to the trade at the age of thirteen or fourteen, she works at it all her life, rising early, and late taking rest, and what is the remuneration of her daily toil of twelve hours? Eighteenpence, or at most two shillings a day, with her board! As she reckons the value of the latter at a shilling, it follows that the earnings of a dressmaker, in the best period of her life, who goes out to work, could not exceed 15s., or at the most 18s.a week, if she did not, at the hazard of her health—which, indeed, is frequently sacrificed—work at home before she begins, and after she has finished her day's work abroad. The carpenter or house-painter does not work harder, or bring to bear on his employment greater knowledge than the poor dressmaker, yet he has 4s.6d.a day without his board, while she has only what is equivalent to 2s.6d.or 3s.!What reason can be assigned why a woman's work, if equally well done, should not be as well paid as that of a man? A satisfactory reason has yet to be given; the fact, however, is indisputable that women are not in general so well paid for their labor as men.