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TWO LITTLE GIRLS.
BY HATTIE E. S. CRESSY.
Two little brown- eyed girls,
With lovely auburn curls
Are flitting round my chair;
And as I go to write,
One merry llttlesprite
Is pulling at my hair.
The other little miss
Insists upon a kiss
And says she wi l “keep till;"
And as I toward her lean.
The ink spills down between.
And on the floor doth spill.
Thee the little eyes grow bright,
For ’tis a happy sight
To them when mischiefs done;
And four chubby little feet,
Tattoos on the carpet beat,
At thought of all the fun.
And U I try to scold.
The tiny arms enfold
Me in such a loving way:
That I must smile ins.ead,
And even kiss the sunny head.
Planning mischief all the day.
When I get their little book.
And we at the pictures look
Till they more sober grow—
Or a box of buttons bring,
Which the little lingers string,
Their dolls beside them in a row.
And when each darling head
Is laid within the trundle-bed,
And they repeat their eve ipg pr. ye:
I then fancy I can hear
The wings of angels rustling near
The little sinless pair.
And when for the night’s repose.
Their eyes so swe, tly close,
I linger near them tor awiiile;
An)i on their little pillows weep,
.'i'flug ftocl to ever keep
• 1 JMSfeir precious hearts from guile.
Plttsfl#d, Mass.
MARRYING A POET;
-OR—
My First Dinner.
I was the only daughter of wealthy parents, and
well-nigh spoiled by indulgence and petting, as is
usual in such cases. My mother died soon after I
had attained my twelfth year, and shortly after I
was placed at a fashionable boarding school, there
to finish my education, and gain the accomplish
ments deemed necessary for a young lady of wealth
and high family connections.
After completing my education, I returned home
to find my father had filled the place made vacant
by the death of my mother. My grief and indig
nation knew no bounds. That creature in the
place of my sainted mother? I at once conceived
the most violent dislike for my stepmother, and
which dislike she returned with interest.
In spite of my piuk and white baby face, and in
nocent childish ways, I had a most violent, ungov
ernable temper, and my stepmother’s disposition
was very far from being angelic. You can imag
ine the amount of peace and harmony that reigned
in that household!
After three months of unremitting sunshine, (?) I
left my father’s house, and went to reside with my
mother’s sister, Mrs. Hillard, who was the proprie
tress of a charming little country seat in Woodville,
a place of summer resort.
Here commenced a new life for me—such an one
as I had so long longed for; plenty to love and sym
pathize with my little griefs and' sorrows, and no
end of caressing and petting. 1 was happier than I
had been for many years.
Aunt Lucy had two daughters, both of whom
were several years older than myself—elegant,
stately, self-poised women—be.-ides whom I sank
into significance, with my pink-andxwhite doll face
and curling, blonde hair, and simple, childish, coax
ing ways.
I was of an intensely romantic, sentimental cast
of mind, and had a holy horror of the real, the
practical—everything pertaining to the common
affairs of every day life. Making worsted flowers,
strumming sentimental love songs on the guitar,
dreaming of impossible, ideal lovers, and devouring
sensational, high pressure novels, were my chief oc
cupations; and when my old maid aunt Patsy sug
gested that I would do well to go into the kitchen
occasionally, and take a few lessons in cookery,
clear-starching and general housework, I laughed i
the honest, antiquated maid to scorn.
She Hounded out of my presence, muttering about
the worthlessness of girls now-a-days—fit for just
noth'Ug but parlor ornaments.’ The next day I
heard her talking about me to aunt Lucy and the
girls—Kate and Say.
•It beats me the way that Jane Kerries sails. I
pity the man that gets her! What does she know
about managing a house, nursing sick folks, taking
care of children, and all that.- She don't know
anvthing about noihing I Yummy.’
t>ear aunt Lucy and the girls rushed to my as
sistance.
•You must consider, Patsy, said Aunt Lucy,
that girl- are not brought up now as they were
when vou and I were ycung. And besides, Janie’s
mother died when she was so young, and there was
no one to teach her these things.’
•Then, - said Miss Patsy.’it's your duty to teach
her.’
’Oh! she's too pretty and childish to bother her
little head about housework—her dainty bits of
hands were never intended for such things!’ said
mv cousins, both of whom were excellent house-
keepers, notwithstanding their intellectuality, and |
graceful, elegant manners.
‘All is, 1 pity her husband and child en, if she
ever has any. But there! gals that don’t know
anvthing about nothing, haint no business to have
anV husband and children-that’s my opinion!’
Perhaps vou think I ’turned over a new leaf af
ter this and became intensely interested in house
hold matters. Not a bit of it! Turning over new
leaves is not such an easy matter as you may sup
pose I had a good crv over my worthlessness and
general good-for-nothiugness. and there the matter
ended. I
HE BENT AND CLASfi&I ME' GENt/T TO OE.yT.
*hn
The‘fashionable season’at Woodville that sum-- I I loved him sritifall the fende-nes* and devot^ti r»f ( i brought iw dinner—yes, to dinner! The thought
mer was an unusually brilliant one. The village my romantic, sensational heart, and he gave'me in ‘drove me (frantic,
was thronged with visitors—some in search of rest return that passionate worship which poetic souls
and health, but more in quest of recreation and I like his alone can give. I leave you to imagine how
happy I was in such companionship’
For a time everything went on like clockwork.
Jennie, our rnaid-of all-work, was a splendid cook,
and an excellent manager
Edward went into ecstasies over I er choice,
dainty dishes, and declared she was worth her
weight in gold. Now. this same Edward was some
thing of an epicure. I confess I was astonished at
the evident relish and gusto with which he devour-.
amusement.
There was quite an excitement in our little
household when it was announced that Elm Cottage
had been taken for the summer bv Professor Der
went and bis invalid mother. The professor was
connected with a neighboring college, and had
made a decided sensation by the publishing of a
volume of poems, of remarkable power and beauty.
Possessed of wealth, good looks and genius, as he
was. all the marketable young ladies of the town J ed turkey, roast beef, plum-pudding and other del
were on the qui ; ire to make an impression upon
the heart of the poet-professor.
I had always had admirers, but never a lover—1
was so hard to please, they all said: so romantic
and sentimental. ‘My flower of men’ should be
high above all other men—some proud, wonderful,
unapproachable creature; a poet, artist, or some
military hero, perhaps.
When I saw Edwin Derwent I felt that my day
had come—he was so like the hero of my dreams,
with curling hair, broad, white forehead, and large,
melancholy, dreamy eyes. I was sure that Owen
Meredith, Tennyson, and all those divine beings,
bad just such waving hair, and sad, blue eyes.
We weie near neighbors, and saw each other of
ten. I felt sure at last that he was in love with one
of my cousins—what else could those frequent vis
its mean ? If he would only love me.' but, I was
sure that he despised me. shallow thing that I was.
So I grew shy and distant, and avoided him as much
as possible.
One day my cousin told me that Mr. Derwent
was in the parlor, and wished to see me. I went to
him with fear and trembling.
He began in the strangest way, by asking why I
disliked him so much. 1 was so shy of him—so dis
tant and reserved, he compiaintd. With all his
wisdom, he did not know that a woman frequently
is shy and distant in the presence of the man she
loves'
Disliued him ? I was always a babyish creature
—I burst into tears.
He had an inkling of the truth, then. He caught
me in his arms, saying:
•Janie James, I love you as I never loved woman
before—give me a little hope—say that you do not
wholly despise me ?’
I was struck dumb with astonishment and joy.
How mistaken I had been .'
•I thought you loved—loved Cousin Kate,’ I fal
tered out at last. ‘You were so attentive—you
talked to her so much and—’
My poet laughed heartily.
’To be sure, I did talk to Miss Kate, but it was
about you, my darling. And you never once sus
pected !’
Some time after our engagement became known
BY-GONE_FASHIONS.
Old-time Pantaloons and Boots—The High-
crowned Hat—Our Grandmother’s
Bonnets—The Tight-lacing
Practice Young La
dies Drinking
Vinegar.
[Recollections of Rev. Dr. Jeter.]
My first recollection of fashion is that old men,
especially those of the better classes, wore short
breeches, as they were called: with knee-buckles
and long stockings, closely fitting the legs. Young
men and old men not governed by fashion wore
pantaloons or breee ts. with legs descending to the
ankles, in a short while pantaloons supplanted
breeches, except in rare cases of old or eccentric
men. Pantaloons, made at first to fit the limbs,
soon began to be cut according to the arbitrary
dictates of fashion. At one time the legs : were of
enormous size—large enough for mail-bags—and at
another they were made ot elastic stuff and fitted
he limbs as’ closely as the skin. Boots underwent
lianges quite as striking as did pantaloons. When
' was a boy old men wore fair top boots. There
were long enough to reach the knee, with a broad
belt of smooth leather, of its natural color, around
the top, and the remainder polished with blacking.
They were pressed down and rumpled about the
legs so as to expose to view a consideral portion of
the stocking between the upper edge of the boot
and knee-buckle. The dainties wore boots of a dif
ferent style. Their legs were stiff, reaching rather
more than half way to the knee, cut at the top and
in front in the form of u heart, with a black silk tas
sels suspended from the lowest point of the inden
tation. They were called ‘Suarrow boots:’ why, I
know not, nor am I sure that my spelling of them
is correct.
BOOTS,
in my early days, were rather a mark of gentility;
but they'soon became common, and were worn
alike by gentlemen and by wagoners at first over,
and afterwards under the legs of pantaloons- Coats
nave undergone a great variety of changes within
the period of my memory. They have been made
with rolling and standing collars, and with long
tails, narrow tails, and some without tails.
The M.thodists all wore round-breasted coats,
such as were fashionable in the days of the Wes
leys. Even Methodist boys had coats of this style.
(Juite likely a methodist would have been expelled
I ushere’d them into thA ditordere 1 parlor—Dig- I from th<vsociety if he had appeared publicly in a
*n, Jennie would have called it—abd then made \ f^bionaply cut coat * It is certain that he would
my escape, calling upon the rocks and mountains | „ ve a ceiflMyed atidjrepi l>t ed for his sinful con-
ieaeies, for I was a fearfully romantic girl, and
had hitherto always ente: mined a vague belief that
poets subsisted upon honey-dew, rose-leaves.nectar
from the gods, or something equally unsub tantial.
I even began to take an interest in domestic af
fairs - For the first few weeks I flew about the
house armed with broom and duster; I even invad
ed Edward’s ‘den,’ determined on tidying it up.
Confusion reigned supreme—floor littered with al
most everything nameable—books and manuscript
lying in every corner—furniture an inch thick with
dust • I rolled up my sleeves and went to work
with a perfect vim. My husband came in and
caught me. He bad no idea of having his things
distorted, so he seized my ‘implements of labor,’
and kept me a prisoner in his arms for the next
hour.
In my childish love for him I thought it would
be so nice, if I could only get up those dainties he
was so fond of—if I could only make cake and pies
for him with my own hands—if I could only have
the praises which he bestowed upon Jennie ! Praise
is so sweet to a woman’s heart, vou know.
So I followed closely on Jennie’s heels on baking-
davs, determined on seeing everything that was
done in the culinary line, and just how it was done.
But in the midst of my endeavors to learn, Edward
would come in and carry me off in triumph; I must
sing for him—or he wanted to tell me something—
or wouldn't I go out riding ? Anything to get his
‘little girl’ out of the kitchen. I was so voung—on
ly eighteen—and he was so much older—nearly fif.
teen years, that nothing remained for me but to
yield.
At last I gave it up altogether, and resumed my
old habits, lounging away the forenoons in mv
chamber, doing fancy worsted work, and shedding
tears over the imaginary oes of some Miranda or
Celestia, who figured in the last new novel.
One morning after Edward had gone to his daily
duties, Jennie received a telegram announcing the
dangei ous illness of her mother, and urging her to
set out for home as soon as she received it. So I
was left to get dinner alone. I immediately re
solved on getting up a dinner that would quite
eclipse Jennie’s. There was sweeping and dusting,
- „ „ and the parlors to put in order, and hosts of other
everybody wondered at the professor’s choice. Poor j things to do, whicu I can’t begin to enumerate but
old Aunt Patsy held up her hands in astonishment i first of all I would build my fire and get my dinner j
when it came to her ears. | under way.
•Well,’ she said, snapping her knitting needles j I started for the kitchen in the best of spirits. I
furiously; ‘some men -.re sich tormented fools that was looking after the shavings and kindling wood
they can’t see "an inch afore their noses. But if j with which to start the fire, when I accidentally
he don’t wish his cake was dough, and the dog had j discovered a book carefully hidden away : so I
it, then I’ll miss my guess !’ with which she >ubsid- j coul l not resist the temptation to jus.; take a peep
ed. j at it. The opening chapters were very interesting,
Miss Julia Joyce, one of the strong-minded ones | sol read cn, forgettol of everything "round me.
to hid? lhe. I wvnt to the kitchen, finished making ! f onn ity to the world. For many years
mj‘ cake, anu then sat down and cried. Edward THE v ethodists firmly stood THErn ground
came down and found me thus, and for the first | <
time daring our wedded life, chided me. I gave j against all changes of fashion. At length, howev-
him some bitter words in return, as I explained to ! er, the round-breasted was gradually succeeded by
him how Jennie had been summoned away. ] the frock coat among them. It was recommended
At the accustomed hour, we sat down to a dinner j by its simplicity and comfort, and perhaps forty or
not exactly in accordance wiih the taste of an epi- fifty years ago it became as rare to see a round-
cure ; a di-iner consistir g of muddy coffee meat j breasted, coat as, a few years previous, it had been
burned nearly to a cinder, watery potatoes, half-
done at that, and everyC*ung else to match.
My husband’s friend made a wry face every time
he attempted to swallow ; and Edward—my idol
to notice a frock coat.
The high-crowned hat, the mark and absurdity
of civilization, has maintained its place through all
the mutations of fashion. Its brim has been some-
mv poet, whose face always like a June morning, was j tim* s narrow; its color has changed from black to
actually Mack in the face with mortification and j brown, from brown to w'hite, and from white to
suppre-s-d anger. I passe ! the cake to my husband j black again: its form has frequently varied from
and his friend, thankful that there was one thing the high to the low crown, sometimes narrowing
they could eat without making a free. As I said j and again widening toward the top, and it has been
before, this was Edward’s favorte cake, so he took : manufactured of wood, straw and leather, and of
a generous slice, broke, and tas ed it. ! wool, cotton and fur: but still the stovepipe crown
’’For Heaveu’s sake, Janie, what do you call this ?” ! rules Christendom.
Then 1 tasted of my slice : it was saiter than the j Shirks have played no inconsiderable part in the
briny ocean. I had sweetened it with salt, in my world of fashion. Old men and dandies were
hurry and excitement. j adorned with
“’An idiot could have done better than that!’’ j ruffled shirts
I could have borne anything bur such words from
him. I burst into tears and left ihe table. sixty years ago. Most men had their shirt bosoms
"Goto your room, J.nie, if vou are going to act plain or plaited, and wore them concealed, or more
li-e a child !’’ " or less exposed, according to the prevailing cus-
The next moment I was in my chamber. Throw- toms or their various tastes and fancies. Collars
ing myself on the bed, I sobbed as if my heart i have changed I know not how often, from wide to
would break. Hour after hour I lay there : night narrow, and from standing to turning. Collars de-
came, and no Edward. When he did come, he j tached from the shirts were not used until about
passed our chamber without ev -n : ausing, and the year 1826; and they did not become common
went on to the next room, it seemed terrible lying without delay and considerable opposition,
there all alone, for we had never spent a single Whether it is from instinct or training that wo-
night apart since our marriage. 1 men are peculiarly devoted to fashion, I know not.
We did not see each other until the next morning The fact is unquestionable. All the cautious in the
at breakfast. Mv husband alluded to the "scene’’ Scriptures against fondness for dress and costly
of the day before.
"How could you mortify me so, Jaine ?” he said
sternly.
"And how could you insult me before a stran
ger ?’’
Bitter words followed on both sides.
"1 wish from my very heart I had never seen
you !’’ I cried,.
"I wish to Heaven you never had !” was the cut
ting reply.
"I shall go back to my aunt, to-morrow.”
"Do so ; the sourer the better !”
And the next moment he was gone.
I would take him at his word. That very morn
ornaments are addressed to the gentler sex. My
observations have shown that the warnings have
not lost their appropriateness. In my early years
women’s attire,
within the range of my observation, was exceed
ingly simple. Five or six yards of calico or cam-
bricwere deemed an ample pattern for the dress of
a lady of ordinary proportions. It was made with
gores, so as to admit of due expanse in walking. It
was perfectly plain in style, and free from ruffles,
furbelows and pleats. The bonnet in those days
was designed to cover the head and to protect the
face from the rays of the sun, and it was well
ing I got everything in readiness, my trunks packed l \ n
of the village, vented her opinion pretty freely.
‘How a man of Professor Derwent's i'ntell ct and
mental calibre, could fancy that little brainless
child, passes my understanding. But there ! such
men alirays choose a woman who hasn't got two
ideas in her head !’
Edward's mother, too, was not at all pleased
with the choice her son had made. This was not at
all wonderful, for did you ever know a mother who
thought there was a woman in existence half good
enough for her son ? I must confess that I never
did !
Edward was the most impatient of lovers, and it
was impossible to resist the eloquent pleadings of
his lips and eyes; so, after a brief engagement, we
were married". Before this I had told him frankly
of my ignorance oi domestic affairs, and begged for
a little time. But .no: he would not hear of such a
thing. He wanted a friend, a companion, a wife—
not simply a housekeeper—and all further objec
tions he stopped with kisses.
IVe spent the first few months of our married
life in travel, and then settled down as cosily as a
pair of robins in our new home—a little cottage on
the outskirts of the town of B—, in whose renown
ed university my poet-husband had a professorship.
For two mortal hours I sat there spell-bound.
and labeled. I was waiting for the coach to carry
me to the depot, when he came in.
"Janie, what does all this mean !” looking at my
labeled trunks.
"It means that I am going home to Aunt Lucy.
You wished me to. ’’
“Oh. my little Janie ! I di iii't mean it—you
know I didn't. Come back, and I’ll never, never
scold you again—never be cruel again !”
He "held out his arms, smiling tenderly ; the re
vulsion of feeling was so strong that I totcered and
fell on my knees before him (he bent and clasped
me gently to his heart, i
And so ended our first and last quarrel. We went
with bows and ribbons. A11 the other garments
and adornments of the sex were in harmony with
their chief articles of apparel. The Methodist ladies
of the time contributed much to restrain the ex
travagances of fashion. They had a style of dress
peculiar to themselves. It was simple, neat, con
venient. and. as I then thought andstiU think, very
handsome. For some years they maintained their
style with unflinching simplicity, but the change of
taste and
TIDE OF FASHION
gradually weakened their principles and swept
{ „ uu su C11UCU uui Ulall „„„„ awav their peculiarities of dress. It came to pass
The striking of the clock brought me to my senses into“he kitchen^that"^^^^!^got“up a nice little ifethodist women could not be distinguished by
at last. I sprang to my feet m dismay and glanced 1 SU p,together. their vestments from other people.
at my watch ; yes, the clock was right; a little
more than half an hour in which to prepare my
dinner.
I seized the poker, and made a frantic rush for
the stove. After awhile the kindlings caught fire,
and I crammed the stove with wood, determined
to make np for lo.-t time. . then put the meat in
the oven—a splendid piece of beef, juicy and tender
—and determined on surprising Edward with some |
sponge cake of my own making—it was his favors j
ite cake.
I got my ingredients together, and went to the
This happened some years ago. and Edward de- . first manifest departure from the old fash-
Clares now, that there isn’t a better housekeeper in 10ns was a dress short in front and long behind. It
town than ’‘his little girl.’’ Perhaps Aunt Patsy peatly offended the common taste, but it was
was riehc, when she said that ‘‘gals that don't know fashionable, and from the law of fashion there was
nothing about anvthing. hain’t no business to get no appeal. I he garment was modified by the va-
married ” " tying tastes of its wearers: but those who took the
. lead in fashion wore it half way to the knees be-
r | M i ortitinn fore and traiiin g ‘ D the dus t behind; but it was far
Lc! iVlIg! CUIUU, (■ from rivaling in length and gorgeousness the train
The eel will, of its own accord, leave a pDnd or of a modem belle,
stream and wander overland to another locality.
This occurs, it is stated, usually when the hot
over it, the door-bell rang. M3- heart almost stood
still for a moment ; there was no alternative but to
go to the door just as I was, in mj- soiled, torn
morning-dress, my hair uncombed, and in curl-pa
pers. my face heated and red : very few traces of
the beauty which my husband was forever talking
about to his old literary friends, were discernible,
ac I opened the door to him and the friend he Had
In such a case the animals leave the an= T DoubHess it was the m^ento of tome
to its wants.
stagnating waters of a land-locked pond and with happy hour a Ioved trinket bestowed b the hand
a serpent-like motion, pass tnroughgras^ .... of affection. When a member of the household in
ted with dews, or showers. . They seem to exhibit 0 ur country embarks on a journey to a malarial
a sense of direction in their movements. a - district, the most appropriate gift is a package of
head for the nearest stream. These land migrations Portaline or Tabler’s Vegetable Liver Powder a
are more frequent during evenings, when a heavy ™ - — - *
dew is deposited, than at other times.
BETINCT PRINT
Cm
