Walking Dress.-Robe of popeline; the body is high, with black lace forming revers; the sleeves in bouillons, and two rows of black lace; the skirt ornamented en tablier by black lace and stamped velvet. Bonnet of fancy straw and ribbon.

PLATE IV.

Dinner Dress.-Robe of taffetas; the body is open and forms jacket, united by bands of velvet; vandykes of velvet edge; "the body and bottom of double sleeve also border the six graduated flounces, which are put on almost plain; guimpe and sleeves of muslin and insertion. Bonnet of crin and ribbon, with velvet flowers.

Carriage Dress.-Robe of broché silk, with high body and basques. Mantelet of embroidered muslin, trimmed with frillings of the same. Bonnet of paille de riz and silk in

bouillons.

Promenade Dress.-Robe of popeline, with jacket trimmed with plissés of ribbon in double row on the body; triple open sleeves edged with plissé, and rows of similar trimming ascend the skirt en tablier. Capote of crape and lace.

Promenade Dress.-Robe of striped moire, with high body; small mantelet, much off the shoulders, trimmed with fringe and band of velvet above. Capote of satin and crape, with feathers.

Carriage Dress.-Robe of embroidered taffetas; the skirt is covered by three deep flounces; high body, with plastron and very deep basque or jacket, and double sleeves à disposition, or embroidered to correspond. Capote of crape, with wreath of flowers edging the front.

PLATE V.

Pelerine composed of wide pink satin ribbon, edged with black vandyked velvet; it has a bow of narrower ribbon over each shoulder, and is fastened at the waist with a rosette.

First bonnet, of white satin and Terry velvet, with a fall of deep lace round the front; the cap inside is made of white blond, with a feather on one side and a bow of pink ribbon and two flowers on the other.

Second bonnet, composed of lavender-coloured gros de Naples, with broad ribbon with a black edge, and trimmed round the front with black lace.

Third bonnet, of green satin and crape of the same colour. Cap inside of lace, and bunches of violets.

Dress cap, of vandyked blond, and broad lilac ribbon, with anemone blossoms on each side.

Second cap, of lace, with two ends behind of blue ribbon, with stripes of a darker colour across it; trimmed across the crown with rows of velvet leaves, and at the sides with white flowers.

Evening cap, of blond, trimmed with white satin ribbon and primroses.

Morning ditto, of muslin and narrow pink ribbon.

First head-dress, of dark blue ribbon.

Second ditto, of black velvet.

White under-sleeves of embroidered muslin.

DESCRIPTION OF MODEL.

The pattern is of a short sleeve, termed Odalisque, composed of a small tight sleeve, with a trimming attached of which the larger piece is the model; the upper part forms a bouillon; the lower part a frill; a small ornament corresponding to the style of that used on the dress divides the bouillon from the frill, the width of which is indicated by the holes made along the paper; they give the proper line for forming the bouillon by gathering it to the size of the small sleeve, on which it is laid, the frill falling below.

BELL-THE-WOLF.

[Condensed from the German of Gerstacker.]

29

IN the sequestred valleys of that noble chain of mountains known as the Washitah range, the genuine North American backwoodsman is still to be found. Homely but upright, rough but hardy, he is as remarkable for the self-sacrificing generosity of his friendships as for the deadliness of his hatred.

One enemy the backwoodsman has to contend with, one that, in spite of rifle and trap, he has never yet been a match for the cunning and merciless wolf. In vain the hunter brought all his skill to bear against the crafty thief; in vain, night after night, defying the assaults of gnats and mosquitoes, he lay in wait in the moonlight, stretched on the gnarled branches of some wide and leafy oak, beneath which he had placed a dainty bait.

Benjamin Holick, or Wolf's-Ben, as he was called, was a fine fellow to look at; he stood full six feet high, had a giant's breadth of shoulders and a brawny muscular arm, and, in the half-year since he had come out of Missouri to settle at Washitah, had killed no less than seventeen formidable wolves with his rifle; no wonder, then, that he had the reputation of being the most skilful marksman in the district. With all this he was the most good-tempered, obliging friend that a man could make. A good word would win anything from him; he would give away his powder to the last charge, and the very last crust out of his wallet. Indeed, his kindly ways and handsome face had won him such favour among the womankind at the settlement as to reduce many of the youth to despair, and to secure for himself some ill-will and jealousy among them.

Benjamin Holick loved, as only one pure and truehearted like himself can love; and his affections were fixed on the only daughter of Robert Sutton, a charming little girl, and the heiress of all her father's wealth; but that he, a poor adventurer with nothing in the world but his knife, his rifle, and his strong arm, should be accepted as the son-in-law of a man who had the largest possessions in all Washitah and Red River was not a very likely thing to happen.

Mabel's father, too, was reputed to be a covetous man; and Ben tried hard to devise some scheme for obtaining a little money, just to set him going, as it were. But it was in vain. The three doliars a head which the state allowed for the scalps of the wolves he destroyed still amounted to a mere trifle; and he was just beginning to despair when a plan was proposed for ridding the district of the wolves by which it was infested.

The plan was this: a wolf was to be caught, and taken alive, and then, after having a bell fastened round its neck, was to be set at liberty. He would naturally seek the society of his comrades, and they, affrighted at the unusual sound, would fly in wild confusion before him; but wherever they fled he would still follow, and, exasperated to find themselves still accompanied by the hated bell, they would be constrained at last to seek another hunting ground.

It was determined that this experiment should be tried, and that the reward to be given to the successful captor of a live wolf should be the unheard-of sum, in these woodland regions, of two hundred dollars!

Here was a stimulus to Benjamin. With two hundred dollars, could he not stock a little farm, and make a

beginning? And Mabel!-who knows if she would not be able to persuade her father, if once he saw the black rascal in chains at his heels? But no time was to be lost; for the reward had of course brought all the hunters of the neighbouring country into the field, and the woods already resounded with their preparations.

But a new trouble was in store for the lovers. About this time a so-called cousin of Mabel's father, a citizen in a blue coat with silver buttons, came to the mountains; and, as he had an uncle who was said to be the richest planter in Alabama, and he was his only heir, it was no wonder that Sutton received him in the most friendly manner, and placed his house and everything in it, not even excepting his daughter's hand, entirely at his disposal.

Mr. Metcalf appeared fully aware of the treasure thus thrown in his way; and, like a prudent man, strove by every means to ingratiate himself with the old man, flattering him in all his weaknesses, and in a very short time he persuaded him that he (Metcalf) was the best fellow, the boldest hunter, and the best rider that ever wore a hunter's coat.

Poor Mabel! she poured out her whole heart to her lover, confessed that she could not live without him, and declared herself a most miserable creature. And Benjamin, holding her hand in his, and gazing into the depths of her blue eyes, endeavoured to cheer her with assurances of success.

"But you will not catch the wolf," cried Mabel, interrupting him, and sobbing as she spoke; "the odious stranger knows all the tricks and snares they invent in the cities, and he will baffle you."

"Let not that trouble you, sweetheart," replied her lover proudly; "men may invent snares in the cities, but they must learn to use them in the forest. Only be true to me, my own Mabel, and I will yet win from your father a hearty assent." And taking a cheerful leave of the maiden, and impressing a kiss on her dewy eyelids, he shouldered his rifle, and walked with a firm step and a brave heart towards the forest.

The favourite resort of the wolves was an enclosure adjoining the homesteads, where the cattle were littered down at night; and here it was that Holick had set his

snares.

However, nothing was to be done at night, and Ben, after kindling a fire and eating his simple supper, rolled himself in his blanket and slept soundly until roused by the first plaintive note of the whip-poor-will, when he started to his feet, and impatiently watched for the first streaks of light in the eastern sky.

Slowly, but at last-at last the light began to dawn, and Benjamin made the best of his way to the place where the trap had been laid. His heart beat with feverish anxiety, as with strained gaze he endeavoured to discover the spot. Could it be, or was he deceived by the quivering of the rising sun? The top of the snare was no longer to be seen. A few steps changed doubt to certainty; the snare had fallen, and a wolf must be at the bottom.

"Hurrah!" shouted Ben in ecstasy, as, plunging through a thicket of sassafras and spice-bushes, and looking to the bottom of the pit, he discovered a fine black coated he-wolf. The creature showed his teeth and grinned savagely at the young hunter as he bent over the

trap; but Benjamin was too well pleased to regard with anything but satisfaction the prize which was to secure for him a life's happiness.

Hastening back to the village to procure assistance, he quickly spread the news of his success, and soon a party was on the road to the scene of action. Niggers with ropes and a strong bag, Sutton with gun and powderflask, and Ben with the collar and bell, which ever and anon he shook merrily till its sharp clear sound went ringing through the forest. Metcalf, who, like himself, had been watching all night in the woods, was absent. Ben was, of course, the first to reach the spot. He leaped on to the trunk of a fallen tree, and, grasping the overhanging branch of a young beech, gazed into the depths of the hollow.

"Hey, Ben, what ails ye man ?" cried the farmer impatiently, addressing Ben for the second time. "Are we in the wrong hollow ?"

Benjamin Holick turned, but answered not a word; but, with a look of deathlike paleness, pointed to a confused heap of withered brushwood, in the midst of which the practised eye of the old man discerned the rough massive framework of a wolf-snare. It was empty.

Empty indeed; but how, and by whose assistance had the animal escaped? for assistance he must have had in escaping from the strong and heavy trap. Ben's suspicions instinctively pointed to Metcalf; but, on returning to the village, that gentleman's frank expressions of regret and ready offers of assistance in tracking the wolf disarmed them.

After this Holick got utterly dispirited, and avoided the hamlet entirely, shunning the presence of men, and living alone in the deep seclusion of the forest. Still one thought, one purpose, possessed him absolutely, and to this all his energies were bent-the capture of a live wolf.

In the meantime Metcalf, or the "city gentleman," as the young hunters called him, received a letter announcing the death of his uncle, who had left him heir to a large property, which would require his presence in Alabama. Upon this he quickened his wooing, and boldly proposed for the lovely Mabel, and, although unconditionally rejected by her, was accepted by the old man, who, pleased at the prospect of a wealthy son-in-law, encouraged him to "make up to her, and all would be right."

Hoping by a display of generosity to overcome the repugnance of Mabel, he proposed a fête in celebration of his good fortune, to which all the neighbours were invited; and the court-house, a large log-building, was prepared for the occasion. Beeswax candles, seats for the ladies, an old fiddler, and all the profusion of a rustic merry-making enlivened the interior of the old building, and promised complete success to the experiment.

The success was indeed perfect so far as the villagers were concerned; but she, for whose especial entrapment the festival was prepared, was quite insensible to its attractions. When evening arrived Mabel, of all present, alone was sad. The thought of her lover wandering alone in the woods filled her mind, and it was with difficulty she could be persuaded even to enter the dancing-room; no entreaties could prevail on her to join in the happy circle. A passive and silent spectator, she remained disconsolately in the seat she had taken on her entrance.

But Benjamin Holick was not wandering in the woods

as his poor betrothed believed. Although he declined to be present, he resolved to be near at hand to see, if possible, whether Mabel, his own Mabel, had indeed forsaken and forgotten him; for busy friends had brought him intelligence of what they called the "betrothing feast," and had expressed their opinion that no woman could resist the influence of so much money as Metcalf was reported to have become possessed of. Cautiously, therefore, and fearful of being discovered, he stole round the house, and, concealing himself behind a hickory-tree, managed to overhear sufficient to convince him that Mabel was still

true.

"Not danced a step," said Ben, repeating the words he had just overheard; "then she is neither false nor faithless, and she has not forgotten poor Ben."

With this, he lifted his rifle from the bush in which he had deposited it, and, casting one look at the brilliantlylighted court-house, took the path that led to the nearest ridge of the Washitah range. He could no longer endure the hamlet-least of all at night, and preferred sleeping by his watch-fire.

He soon selected a spot in a rocky hollow, and kindling his fire and wrapping himself in his bearskin, with a stone for his pillow, he lay deep in thought, as he gazed upwards to the stars that seemed to shed a friendly light upon him.

An unwonted silence brooded over the forest -the very frogs croaked in whispers; the light tread of the opossum was distinctly heard, and further off-and Ben raised his head and listened—a wolf was howling his even-song in the hollow glen. He lay thus on the watch for about half-an-hour, the howl of the wolf coming nearer and nearer, and at last he heard a howl in reply from a ravine behind the spot where he had made his bivouac, and where he soon discovered that the whole pack were assembled.

Ben sprang to his feet, and felt for his rifle-the hunter's spirit kindling within him, and for awhile banishing all other thoughts. Aided by the full light of the moon, and sheltered by a tree which had been uprooted by the wind and now lay athwart the valley, he patiently awaited the approach of the wolf. He had not long to wait. As he stood listening with breathless attention for the slightest movement, he soon heard a quick but cautious tread resound among the withered leaves beneath a clump of trees near where he stood. Trip, trip-trip, trip, and the wolf made a halt. Again it advanced-another halt-it sniffed the air, and stepped into an open space, either suspicious of danger or scenting

its prey.

The smile of triumph which already played across Ben's features gave place to an expression of painful anxiety as he reflected on the difficulty of taking a correct aim in the uncertain, quivering moonlight, and to miss-that was not to be thought of. However, he carefully raised his piece, and guiding his aim by one of the glittering stars that sparkled in the heavens, he pressed the trigger. The shot rang echoing through the forest, and Benjamin followed it with the speed of lightning. There lay, still and lifeless in the moonshine, the black carcass of a large and powerful wolf, with the usual heart-shaped white

spot on the breast.

"The ball must have gone straight through his head," said Ben, softly, as he stooped to feel for the hole of his ball; "he has not even once stirred." He stroked the hair of the head backwards and forwards without finding

31

any mark whatever, and his hand, when held in the moonlight, was white and clean. "It was a wonderful shot, that," muttered the hunter; "but it matters not where the ball went in, as long as it hit the mark. Hallo," he exclaimed, hurriedly, as he perceived a movement in the animal, " is the rascal coming to life again?" and he watched with breathless eagerness the unmistakeable signs of returning vitality. The wolf had been stunned, but not injured by the shot; and as Ben discovered this, he threw himself courageously upon the animal, who struggled wildly and vigorously in his grasp. Ho, ho, my man!" cried the hunter, laughing in proud exultation, as he dealt his blows lustily and with all the might of his iron fist upon the prostrate writhing body of the wolf. "Ha, ha! struggle away; you won't escape this time, unless you manage to slip out of your skin."

The creature strove with all his might to turn upon his captor and bite him. But Ben's grasp was as an iron bridle upon him; and, pressed by the great weight of his tall and athletic person, the astonished beast, fairly exhausted by the contest, lay at last perfectly still, and for the present attempted no farther resistance.

Ben's hunting-knife was in his belt; but to slay the animal were to slay his own best hopes. A live wolf, sound and unharmed, was unexpectedly in his power, held in his grasp for life or death; so, notwithstanding the great weight of the beast, he determined on carrying him on his shoulders to the village. He had carried many a stout buck for nothing but his flesh, and his limbs would not fail him now that they were strung by a higher hope.

His resolution taken, he renewed his grasp of the stillstruggling wolf, and slowly and with difficulty regained his feet. His rifle he was obliged to leave behind, and his cap had fallen off; but this mattered not, and with teeth compressed, and with loftiest determination, he strode homewards, the wolf every instant renewing his efforts to escape.

The sounds of revelry were still issuing from the old court-house. Bowl after bowl of strong negus was emptied, and the notes of the old fiddler rang quicker and shriller as jigs and hornpipes followed in quick succession. Metcalf was beside himself with exulting hope: he would only speak of Mabel as his "sweet little bride." Twice he had embraced old Sutton as his dear fatherin-law; and was whispering insipid compliments into Mabel's wearied ears, when on a sudden something smote heavily against the door. The guests turned towards the entrance in astonishment; but the only answer to the inquiry, "Who's there?" was a renewal of the pushing.

"Deuce take the rude fellow!" cried Metcalf; "but I will soon see who he may be," and hastily lifting the latch, he threw the door wide open. "Ha!" There met him a pair of staring, glaring eyes, just ready to start from their sockets, and a yawning gulf of jaw set with bristling fangs, from which depended a bleeding tonguein a word, a wolf's head, such as the most horrible imaginings might paint it; and above it, and showing deadly pale in the light of the tapers, was the haggard countenance of Ben Holick.

"The wolf! the wolf!" cried Metcalf, after one hasty glance at the terrific pair. "The wolf!" and quickly making way for himself through the thronging guests,

he rushed to the window, put his hand on the sill, and vaulted out-and away.

Merciful heaven!" exclaimed Mabel, as her eyes fell on the agonized and death-like countenance of her lover. "Merciful heaven! help, oh, help!"

"The bell, the bell!" were the only words that the exhausted hunter could get out. "Mabel, the bell! My arms fail me."

"Ha! the wolf's bell!" cried Mabel, suddenly comprehending what had appeared to her like a frightful dream. "One moment, Ben-a few seconds only, and I am here with it." And rushing past him, she flew to her father's house, reached down the bell, and in another minute presented herself with it at the door of the courthouse.

In the meantime the men had recovered their first surprise; and when Mabel appeared with the bell, the collar was quickly secured round the neck of the raging creature. But how was he to be let loose? for it was to be expected that in its present infuriated state it would use its recovered freedom rather for vengeance than for flight. Its struggles, too, became fiercer and more desperate with Ben's failing strength. The proposition to tie the animal with ropes, and, conveying it to the woods, leave it to make its escape, was rejected as hazardous; for in case the beast were injured, all the fatigue and risk of the exploit would have been in vain. Suddenly Mabel, who had been standing agonized at the danger that menaced her lover, hurried forward and cried, "Take him to the garden, Ben, to the bend of the river; the bank has fallen, and if you throw him in there he must swim to the opposite shore."

"She's right," rejoined Sutton. And in a moment they were on their way to the spot; and soon the weary hunter stood at the edge of the cliff that overhung the mountain torrent, Mabel holding his arm to prevent his going too far and falling over.

"Now, Ben," she cried; "now let loose!"

"Thank God!" murmured Ben, as he opened his arms and let down his dark burden, and heard the splashing of the waters as they closed over the beast.

And now the men of the hamlet came in all directions, bringing lanterns; and by their light the black body of the wolf was soon discovered making its way through the foaming stream, groaning as it swam. But when he reached the land and shook himself, the bell was heard jingling loud and clear.

"Ha, ha!" shouted Ben at length, swinging his benumbed arms: "he has it this time. Now Mr. Metcalf may ape me if he will.”

And where was Mr. Metcalf all this while? Heaven only knows at least by no mortal eye was he ever seen in Washitah again. His effects were left behind-even his hat-and were never written for; and from tidings which subsequently arrived, it was evident that the letter declaring him heir to his uncle's property was a forgery, since that gentleman had been declared bankrupt some weeks previous to his nephew's visit to the village. The rich farmer's daughter was a tempting prize to a needy man, and Metcalf had not scrupled at any means in the endeavour to secure it.

It is now many years since these events took place, and Farmer Sutton sleeps in his narrow bed in the greenwood. Ben Holick has given up the hunter's precarious

life, and lives with his Mabel on the farm. Three boys and two girls have blessed their marriage, and they realize a measure of happiness and contentment which is hardly to be found save in the freedom of the backwoods. Their herds have increased and multiplied, for the belled wolf has scared all his companions from the neighbourhood; and on the spot where he caught the wolf alive Ben has built a cottage, and, in memory of that happy evening, named it Wolf's-bell.

BOUDOIR VERSES.

UPON A BOUDOIR SANSPAREIL.

BY LADY E-S-W.

ERST known, when virgin nuns, with pious bent,
Bore the full fragrance from the convent door,*
On Charity's sweet mission still intent,
And gave the blessed balm to grateful poor;
Entered the lowly cot, the home of care,

Meek-hearted pilgrims, from a holy fane,
With new-found charm to lay wild fever there,
And sooth with odorous balm the scorching pain-
A dew distilled by ROWLAND.-So applies
The charitable nun her gift divine,
Till cunning Love the honey-charm descries,
And, bee-like, rifles it for Beauty's shrine!
His quiver-feathers the dear nectar sip,
He sprinkles Laura's face with laughing eye;
Now each too-ruby spot hath left her lip,

Lo! from her cheek the summer-freckles fly;
The envious sun-specks, that have dared repose
On that fair neck and bosom, fade in flight;
And 'neath the pure transparent skin, there glows
A blushing tide, that longs to tinge its light.
Oh! now, in vain the angry wasp may sting,

The buzzing insect spend its rage in vain ;
One milky drop the laughing girl shall fling,
Gone is the spot, and stifled is the pain.

If toilets are the altars of the fair,

Where Love declares the loveliest of enest pray :
Then Beauty, load them with thy incense rare,

ROWLAND'S KALYDOR sprinkle round like spray,
The skin to robe in snow-the sting to smother,
And let the pretty priestess use no other.

The allusion is to the first exportation of Rowland's Kalydor to France, where (until its fame reached the ears of the Court Beauties) it was used by the nuns of different convents for charitable purposes.

KEATING'S COUGH LOZENGES.-As many of our fair readers, from the nature of their sedentary occupation, from breathing impure air in workrooms, where the lungs have not full play and development, and by the neglect of out-door exercise, as well as by sudden exposure to cold by atmospheric changes, often require medical aid, we call the attention of such to KEATING'S COUGH LOZENGES, which have obtained the high patronage of the Courts of Europe, and are used by very many of the nobility. By their use gentle expectoration is promoted, and pulmonary irritation allayed without the combination of any opiate or other injurious anodyne. For females of the most delicate frame, and likewise for chil dren, they may be safely administered; as they not only allay cough and nervous irritation, but sustain the constitution by promoting a healthy state of the digestive organs.-See Advertisement.