DESCRIPTION OF MODEL.

The season of the year requires so much variety in outdoor costume, that we have not hesitated to offer again, with this Number, another model of a mantelet, which is of the small size now in fashion, but the trimmings, as announced in another part, are deep, whether in frills of the same or lace. Black is always fashionable, but during the summer months light colours are much used; the frills may themselves be ornamented by a fringe, fancy velvet trimmings, or gimps, and are much narrower in front than behind; they are also frequently headed by ruches, and a new mode of putting on the plisses is by forming headings at each side, and plaits instead of fullings.

LETTER OF CONGRATULATION FROM A BACHELOR TO A BRIDEGROOM.

"I AM sorry, my dear fellow, to be compelled to decline your obliging invitation to your nuptials, but having lived above half a century in this world of trouble (into which, by the bye, I came in the same year as yourself), I have rather a dread of a cold damp church early in the morning; neither can I get up an appetite to partake of French pies and lobster sallad at the hour of a wedding breakfast; neither are my nerves quite equal to listen to sentimental speeches, and sobs, or, worse than all, to the perpetual feu de joie of those tiny crackers which form a regular side-dish at those banquets. However, I wish to congratulate you on the occasion, and am happy to say, that I have such ample materials for so doing, that my congratulations will fill a letter instead of a note. The first great advantage of your choice consists in the relative ages of yourself and your bride, you being fifty-one, and Lucinda twenty-three. Now it is an established fact, that young ladies always prefer marrying men old enough to be their fathers; of this I am certain, for I have been told so by many middle-aged and elderly bridegrooms, who must of course be excellent judges of the matter; just think, then, how much more likely you are to be happy than if you had married when you were eightand-twenty, or thirty; then you would have been the innocent cause of inflicting much mortification on your wife, while now you will have the satisfaction of knowing that her taste is perfectly pleased; your thin gray hairs

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will delight a partner for life, who is, like Desdemona, too sensible to approve of the curled darlings of the nation; and your closely-shaven whiskers give you a respectability of appearance, very different from the brigand look of the mustachiod young men of the present day, a look which I know to be peculiarly disagreeable to young ladies. I have a niece who is well acquainted with Lucinda and her family, and I am gratified by all I hear about them; there are to be ten bridesmaids at the wedding, and they are not, like most bunches of bridesmaids, selected severally from various parts of the 'Great Metropolis:' five of them are Lucinda's own sisters, the remaining five are her first cousins, and all of them live in the same square as yourself, so that you will not only have Lucinda, but Lucinda's relatives in a ring-fence,-a consideration by no means to be slighted. Your motherin-law elect is, I understand, a most valuable person; shrewd, clever, and perfectly versed in the usages of the world, and at the same time not a match-making, manæurvreing mamma; of this I think there is a most convincing proof in the fact of her having six unmarried daughters, the eldest of whom is turned of thirty-five; a match-maker would have got them off years ago, espe cially as they see a great deal of company in London, and their faces are well-known at all the gayest of the watering places. The father also is an excellent man, and, I understand, speaks in the most enthusiastic terms everywhere of the accomplishments, sweetness of temper, and high principles of his daughters; this is most satisfactory, for who ought to know their dispositions if their own father does not? Lucinda, I am told, sings delightfully; this will be a charming amusement to you, and I do not think she will lay it aside, like most young ladies, on her marriage, because, having a large acquaintance among professional singers, she is constantly practising duets with some established favourite of the public, and it is not so expensive as you may suppose to invite these sort of people to your parties; taking several dozens of tickets for each of their benefits, and offering them a few little elegant occasional presents, will be all that will be expected from you. I am glad to hear that Lucinda brings with her a French maid, an Italian page, two poodles, and a parrot; they will enliven your house greatly; and as you have dismissed your old faithful housekeeper, whom our friend Crabtree has been delighted to engage, there will be nobody likely to raise any objection to them. I am overjoyed to find that you have acted so liberally respecting settlements and pin-money. Lucinda has so much liberality of spirit that she has never hitherto been able to keep within her allowance. My niece describes Lucinda as a most fascinating person, sometimes as full of fire and brilliancy as a Catherine-wheel, sometimes melting into the softest languishment; having a winning way of taking up the attention of the gentlemen, that makes all her own sex jealous of her; sensitively alive to the slightest neglect, and subject to hysterics on the slightest opposition! Now this is just the sort of wife calculated to rouse and interest a grave steady man of a certain age, who of course needs much more entertainment and excitement than he would have done twenty years ago. I understand Lucinda's delicate health requires that she should regularly ride on horseback, and I know that you have a great dislike to that exercise; but even here how fortunately matters fall out! Her cousin, Captain Merton, has always been in the habit of riding in the park with her, and as he is one of

the finest and most gentlemanly looking young fellows in England, you need not be ashamed of any of your friends meeting your wife thus escorted. Lucinda's brother is the only black sheep of the family; but I think, if his debts were paid,-and he says they are under two thousand pounds, he would be likely to reform; at all events, if I were you, I would make the trial. The girls are all exemplary creatures, a matter of some importance to you; for, as the father is breaking fast, and has only a life income, they will probably soon become inmates of your house. I hear that Lucinda has exacted from you a promise to give up cigars: this, of course, must greatly increase your fondness for her; for it is said we never love a person thoroughly till we have made a sacrifice for them. Crabtree just dropped in, and told me he was going to write you a lecture on the folly of your marriage. I read him my letter, and he said he thought it would supersede the necessity of his. What could he possibly mean?

"Believe me, your faithful friend,

"SOLUS SINGLETON."

THE GREAT NATURAL BRIDGE OF VIRGINIA.

On a lovely morning I found myself in a very beautiful part of the Great Valley of Virginia. Spurred onward Spurred onward by impatience I beheld the sun rising in splendour, and changing the blue tints on the tops of the lofty Alleghany mountains into streaks of the purest gold, and the country seemed to smile in the freshness of beauty. A ride of about fifteen miles, and a pleasant woodland ramble of about two, brought myself and companion to the great Natural Bridge.

Although I had been anxiously looking forward to this time, and my mind had been considerably excited by expectation, yet I was not altogether prepared for the visit. This great work of nature is considered by many as the second great curiosity in our country-Niagara Falls being the first. I do not expect to convey a very correct idea of this bridge, for no description can do this.

The Natural Bridge is entirely the work of God. It is of solid limestone, and connects two huge mountaius together, by a most beautiful arch, over which there is a great waggon-road. Its length, from one mountain to the other, is nearly eighty feet: its width, about thirtyfive; its thickness, about forty-five; and its perpendicular height over the water is not far from two hundred and twenty feet. A few bushes grow on its top, by which the traveller may hold himself as he looks over. On each side of the stream, and near the bridge, are rocks, projecting ten or fifteen feet over the water, and from two hundred to three hundred feet from its surface, all of limestone. The visitor cannot give so good a description of this bridge as he can of his feelings at the time. He softly creeps out on a shaggy projecting rock, and looking down a chasm from forty to sixty feet wide, he sees, nearly three hundred feet below, a wide stream, foaming and dashing against the rocks beneath, as if terrified at the rocks above. This stream is called Cedar Creek. The visitor here sees trees under the arch,

whose height is seventy feet, and yet, to look down upon them, they appear like small bushes of perhaps two or three feet in height. I saw several birds fly under the arch, and they looked like insects. I threw down a stone, and counted thirty-four before it reached the water. All hear of heights and depths, but they here see what is high, and they tremble, and feel it to be deep. The awful rocks present their everlasting butments, the water murmurs and foams far below, and the two mountains rear their proud heads on each side, separated by a channel of sublimity. Those who view the sun, the moon, and the stars, and allow that none but God could make them, will here be impressed with the conviction that none but Almigthy God could build a bridge like this.

The view of the bridge from below is as pleasing as the top is awful. The arch from beneath would seem to be about two feet in thickness. Some idea of the distance from the top to the bottom may be formed from the fact, that as I stood on the bridge and my companion beneath, neither of us could speak with sufficient loudness to be heard by the other. A man, from either view, does not appear more than four or five inches in height.

Standing under this beautiful arch, we saw the place where visitors have often taken the pains to engrave their names upon the rock. Here, Washington climbed up twenty-five feet, and carved his own name, where it still remains. Some, wishing to immortalize their names, have engraved them deep and large, while others have tried to climb up and insert them high in this book of fame.

A few years since, a young man, being ambitious to place his name above all others, was very near losing his life in the attempt. After much fatigue, he climbed up as high as possible, but found that the person who had before occupied his place was taller than himself, and consequently had placed his name above his reach; but he was not thus to be discouraged. He opened a large jack-knife, and, in the soft limestone, began to cut places for his hands and feet. With much patience and difficulty he worked his way upwards, and succeeded in carving his name higher than the most ambitious had done before him. He could now triumph, but his triumph was short, for he was placed in such a situation that it was impossible to descend unless he fell upon the ragged rocks beneath him.

There was no house near, from whence his companions could get assistance. He could not long remain in that condition, and, what was worse, his friends were too much frightened to do anything for his relief. They looked upon him as already dead, expecting every moment to see him dashed to pieces. Not so with himself. He determined to ascend. Accordingly, he plied himself with his knife, cutting places for his hands and feet, and gradually ascended, with incredible labour. He exerted every muscle. His life was at stake, and all the terrors of death rose before him. He dared not to look downwards, lest his head should become dizzy; and perhaps. on this circumstance his life depended. His companions stood on the top of the rock, exhorting and encouraging him. His strength was almost exhausted; but a bare possibility of saving his life still remained; and hope, the last friend of the distressed, had not forsaken him. His course upwards was rather oblique than perpendicular. His most critical moment had now arrived. He

not venture to appear alone before her, but entered the room accompanied by a dozen of friends; and the bold profligate, renowned for his daring and his wit, stood suddenly disconcerted in the presence of a woman of nineteen. On perceiving him, Madame de Miramion rose, and exclaimed-"I vow by the living God, my Creator and yours, that I will never be your wife." The passion with which she uttered this solemn protest made her fall back almost senseless on the cushions. A doctor who was present felt her pulse, which was so low that he thought her dying: for forty hours she had not tasted food. Alarmed at the possibility of her death, and rendered still further uneasy by the tidings that six hundred armed men from Sens were coming to besiege the castle, and deliver Madame de Miramion, M. de Bussy swore to set her at liberty; but in the meantime he entreated her to take some refreshment. "When the horses are saddled, and I am in my carriage, I shall eat," replied Madame de Miramion. Her wish was immediately obeyed.-From Women of Christianity, by Julia Kavanagh.

ENTRANCING.-Hieronymus Cardanus, of Milan, writes of himself, that he could pass as often as he pleased into such an ecstacy, as only to have a soft hearing of the words of such as spoke to him, but not any understanding of them. Nor at such times was he in the least sensible of any bodily pain; though troubled with the gout he felt none of its twitches or pullings. The beginning of the transition was at first in the head, and thence it spread all down to the back bone. At first he could find a sort of separation from the heart, as if the soul was departing; and this was communicated to the whole body, as if a door opened." He adds, that he saw all that he desired with his eyes, and that images of whatever he wished to summon before him, woods, mountains, living creatures, &c. appeared distinctly. Cardanus ascribes this extraordinary faculty to an extreme vivacity of imagination; but something more seems required to account for it.-Percy.

Ir is too often an error, in the modern system of education, to consider talents and accomplishments according to the use that is made of them, rather than their intrinsic value: applause is rectitude; and success, morality; but such is not sufficient for an honourable character: there is a dignity in the mind which leads those who possess it to cultivate only those arts which are valuable; who have a satisfaction in their own feelings, beyond what applause, power, or popularity, could bestow. Let us show to youth how dangerous it is to trifle on the borders of virtue; for its chief safeguard is a jealous sensibility that startles at the colour or shadow of vice; when once its barrier is infringed, there is no other at which conscience will rise to exclaim-"thus far, and no farther.”

THE writer of a modern book of travels, ralating the particulars of his being cast away, thus concludes-" After having walked eleven hours without tracing the print of a human foot, to my great comfort and delight, I saw a man hanging upon a gibbet; my pleasure at this cheering prospect was inexpressible, for it convinced me that I was in a civilized country, there being no such thing among savages."

TORRIGIANO, THE SCULPTOR. PETER TORRIGIANO, the celebrated Florentine sculptor, who executed the fine monument of Henry VII. in Westminster Abbey, was once engaged upon a statue of the Infant Jesus for the Duke d'Arcos. The price was not fixed, but the purchaser, who was very rich, had promised to pay for it according to its merit. Torrigiano made it a chef-d'œuvre; the grandee himself enthusiastically admired it: he was at a loss for words to express his approbation of it, and on the following day sent his servants with enormous bags of money. At the sight of them the artist thought himself amply recompensed; but on opening the bags he found-thirty ducats in copper. Justly incensed, he seized his hammer, broke the statue, and drove away the servants with their bags, bidding them tell their master what they had just seen. The duke was ashamed of his conduct; but it is impossible to make the great blush without arousing their vengeance. He immediately went to the Inquisitor, accused the artist of having done violence to the Infant Jesus, and pretended to be horrified at so frightful an outrage. In vain did Torrigiano contend, that one who creates has a right to destroy his own productions; justice pleaded in vain for him, with fanaticism for his judge. The ill-fated man was condemned, and starved himself to death to avoid a worse punishment.

Borne from the blossoming gardens of the southWhile its faint sweetness lingers round his mouth.

The bursting bud looks up

To greet the sunlight, while it lingers yet
On the warm hill-side; and the violet
Opens its azure cup

Meekly, and countless wild flowers wake to fling
Their earliest incense on the gales of spring.

The reptile that hath lain

Torpid so long within his wintry tomb,
Pierces the mould, ascending from its gloom

Up to the light again;
And the lithe snake crawls forth from caverns chill,
To bask as erst upon the sunny hill.