day hear appealing to her little male friend, with his sleeves tucked up, and his nostrils wide. "Don't you fight, John," said the little maid, "when you've no call to." Now these things are a parable. Our big heroes are not yet past hearing a still small voice, and thrilling to a soft hand laid on their brawny shoulders. The clank of what is going on at the shipyard, and the smithy is loud; but the nation will listen, if the collective womanhood of the nation will only say, in case of need, "Don't you fight, John, when you've no call to."

A NEW KIND OF DRESS-GOODS.

A PLEASANT Paris letter in the Courrier des Etats Unis tells this story:

"A paper manufacturer has just invented a kind of impermeable paper suitable for dress-goods. Its manner of employment is both simple and ingenious. It consists in replacing by small frames the hoops upon which are ballooned the petticoats of our ladies. These new-fangled engines are covered with packing canvas, upon which you have only to glue, as on a common screen, the newly-invented paper.

"Thanks to this invention, when a lady wants a new dress, her husband has no longer to distress himself with the disbursement of five or six hundred francs for twenty yards of velvet or thirty of moire antique. All he will have to do will be to buy five or six rolls of the twelve-sous paper, and send for the glueman. This is as simple as all grand ideas.

"The father about to marry his daughter, will not be obliged a long time beforehand to bother himself about her trousseau; he will limit himself to asking his wife on the day before the wedding: 'What paper shall we glue on to our Emily?'

"Mon dieu, my love,' the mother will reply, 'do whatever you think proper-it seems to me that some twenty-two cent paper-with a pretty border, you know'

"Then a man will take a wife without dower-and the marriage contracts will stipulate that the father-in-law engages to paper-hang his daughter-(faire tapisser sa fille) for the first three years."

INVISIBLE HAIR NETS.--As there are still many ladies who value the comfort and convenience of the hair net, and who are desirous of retaining it as long as fashion permits, we are very happy to comply with the wish of a subscriber, and give instructions for making the newest that has appeared, which is one that bears the name of the "Invisible Hair Net." As its title implies, this net is scarcely distinguishable when worn upon the hair, as it matches it in color, and is also remarkably fine and clear, the meshes being open. The silk used is much finer than the finest netting silk, and is strong, being a sort of raw silk. Commence by making twenty loops on a mesh onethird of an inch wide, and net as many rows, thus forming a perfect square, then gather up a little portion of the centre of this square, tie it round and attach it to the string of the netting stirrup, and then continue to net all round the edge of the square until the desired size has been reached. This size must be regulated according to the convenience of the proposed wearer, and this must depend upon the quantity of hair which it is intended to confine. When completed an elastic must be pissed through the last row of loops, the net must be moistened with a little weak gum-water, stretched over a dinner-plate, and left to dry. These invisible hair nets are the best that have been introduced, and are, in fact, the only kind now worn.

EXTRAORDINARY TALE.-A child was deposited twenty-seven years ago at the Foundling Hospital, at Brussels, having a flower tattooed on its arm. It was of the female sex, and was brought up by a country woman, paid by the Philanthropic Society. The infant became a young woman; and little is known of her career for some time, except that she had been in service for about ten years. Now comes the wonderful part of the story. An English family claims the paternity of the child, and a strict search is set on foot, which results in the future rich heiress being found in a most wretched place, in company with four soldiers, and she herself reduced to the last degree of abject debauchery. It is to be hoped she is not a peeress in her own right.

A "NO."

OH, love me not! my heart is frail and weak,
The burden of thy love it cannot bear ;
My life stands still to listen if thou speak
What reason whispers that I must not hear:

Not hear thy words of pledged fidelity,
Not look upon the bliss thou paint'st for me,
For all my soul goes sorrowing up to see

How much of grief the future has for thee!

For thee and me, if these two words should be,
If these two lives should run in one indeed;
But oh! this cannot, may not, must not be-
Nay, turn thine eyes away, they shall not plead.
See what a shadow is already cast

From Love's sad wings upon thy shining brow; The darkness of his presence thickens fast;

He comes, he comes-oh! fly him even now.

Thy voice is faint and weak-it stoops to mine-
But it must rise to fill a people's ear.
Fly! I am little, little to resign:

In future years how little, will appear.
Thine eyes see nothing but two tearful stars-
Two tearful stars are all mine eyes can see,
But thine must gaze into futurity;

Oh, lift them up and mine too will be free!

Free, joyous, to pursue thy shining course,
Ready to beam with thy reflected light,
Radiant with glory from thy glorious source,
My feebleness rejoicing in thy might.

Wit thou not go? For my sake then, dear friend,
Depart, depart, for oh! I am so weak,

And love so strong-yet will I not descend
To be his slave, despite this burning cheek.

Love bends a rainbow o'er my earthly sea,
He shall not stand between my God and me;
I must not in the glory that I see,
Forget the glories of the great "To Be."
E'en for an instant; and full well I know
Those rainbow tints would fall in misty tears,
And leave me helpless, hopeless, here below,
With no strength left for all the coming years.
Love is not happiness-our soaring hopes
Stretch out and think to grasp the infinite;
The mortal with the immortal vainly copes,
And in the truggle Loves dies into night!
The happiest love lies a dull aching load

On our poor hearts, which heavier grow each beat; Tae flower too freely dew-fed will be bowed,

Will drop, may die, altho' its load be sweet.

And oh if thou shouldst change, as change thou must, For man's love is a frail and fleeting thing—

A smiling angel crumbling into dust

If but a hand be laid upon his wing

I could not bear it-oh! I could not bear
That thou shouldst be less loving than thou art.
Thou wouldst not change? and always, everywhere
I should reign queen of mind and soul and heart?"

If thou shouldst love me for ten thousand days,
And one day scorn me-oh! my life would be
Thenceforth one wildering, dreary, weary maze,
Too dearly bought by past felicity.

Go, and take with thee my prayers, my tears,
This kiss upon thy brow; I bid thee go.

I say it now and for all future years,
Ever, for ever and for ever, "No!"

ANCHOVY SAUCE.-Add a wineglassful of essence of anchovies,

a little mace, and a rather high seasoning of cayenne to half a I pint of melted butter.

THE ART OF SHOPPING..

WE are all satisfied that men have no genius for shopping. They are not equal to it. Nature has left their faculties imperfect in that particular. They can write books and make speeches, and all that sort of thing, but they are not up to shopping. It takes the ladies for that. Men go to a store, select what they want, and buy it. But that is not shopping; that requires no genius. Men pretend they do not like to go shopping with the ladies. I wonder who ever asked them? What lady would have such an incumbrance on such occasions? Men are well enough in their places. Young gentlemen are convenient to take us to concerts, and see us home from church, and bring us bouquets and music; and husbands are useful to pay the bills, &c., but for a shopping excursion they are quite out of place. Do you understand me to insinuate that I have distinguished ability that way? Not at all; I only speak of my sex. In fact, I acknowledge myself a poor hand at it. But my friend, Sallie R, is a model shopper; I am taking lessons of her, and hope to be perfect by the time I am married. A few days ago she invited me to go with her. "I wish to look at the new styles of silks,' " said she. Why, do you want to get a new dress?" I asked. "Really," said Sallie, "if it was not impolite, I should say that you were a verdant. I don't want a dress, but that's no reason why I should not see the material."

So Sallie and I sallied out The first store we entered she asked whether the merchant had received his spring goods. He said he had, and inquired what she would like to see.

"Show me your new style dress goods," said she, "such as barege robes, and lawn robes, and handsome striped plaid silks; brocades and changeable silks are not much worn this spring, but I'll look at your solid colors."

The merchant soon had his counter spread with goods. She examined and tossed them about, making various creases in them, to see whether they would come out again by rubbing. "What style is worn?" said Sallie to the clerk. "Well, we sell probably more plaid stripes than any other." "Have you any with chiné stripes?" inquired Sallie. "Oh, yes, some very fine," and a number of pieces were produced.

"Well, I can't say, after all, that I like the chiné stripes; the green is very pretty."

So Sallie held it in various lights, rubbing it and creasing it. "Well, it don't crease much," said she; "I wonder whether it will cut?"

"No, it is boiled silk; and we find that the plaid and stripes wear very well."

"Your silks are very pretty, and you may cut off a sample, if you please," continued Sallie.

This the merchant was forced to do, though with rather a bad grace, as most of his goods were in patterns, and he feared spoiling the piece.

"Will you be kind enough to give me samples of the solid cloths?"

They were all furnished.

"No, sir; I'll look at them all," said Sallie. Different colors and patterns were accordingly produced.

แ

"What is the price of green centre broché border?''

"We can afford you that for nine dollars; same style sold for fifteen dollars two months ago."

Some printed borders were put up for four dollars and fifty cents.

"No, I prefer broché; but can't you take less?''

I saw a twinkle in the merchant's eye, which made me think he knew she was only shopping.

'Now," said he, "if you won't mention it, I'll let you have it for six dollars."

Sallie looked surprised; she knew the article was selling at nine dollars.

"Six dollars; is that your lowest ?"

"Well, to oblige you, I will say four dollars," said the merchant.

A pause ensued.

"Then you think four dollars is the lowest?"

"Ahem! Have a large lot, and want to dispose of them; I'll say two dollars and fifty cents!"

"Are you sure it is a first-rate piece of goods?''

"I'll warrant it all silk and wool," said the merchant. My friend was caught. Turning to me she whispered: "I do wish I had brought some money!" and then, addressing the merchant, said, "I will call again."

I never was so glad to get out of a store before; for the clerks had gathered around us, seeming to understand the joke. But Sallie went home, got the money, and insisted upon my returning with her to the store for the shawl.

The merchant said he was sorry, very, but the shawl had just been sold! And so was Sallie, too, I thought. We went shopping no more that afternoon.

THE ART OF BORROWING.

"My dear," said a young Parisian lady to a female friend, "do you believe that miserly X- would lend me three thousand francs?" X was the name of a well-known sporting man. "It depends upon chance," was the answer. "How shall I set about it ?"

"Take a pen and write-'MY DEAR ALFRED: I have been disappointed in the receipt of some money, this morning. Could you bring me, this evening, three thousand francs, and, at the same time, carve a pheasant which I have just received?—

money. Don't forget, however, to come and sup with me. The pheasant is superb.'' This letter was sent like the first. "Now, see what will happen," said the lady friend. "Alfred will feign not to have received your second letter, and will make a show of generosity when he thinks that you need no money. The rest is with yourself."

All was executed according to form, the sporting 'man gallantly offere the three thousand francs, convinced that they would not be accepted; but, to his horror, the lady quietly pocketed the money. And, to add to his disappointment, no pheasant was there to eat.

A SENSITIVE Organization is nearly always accompanied by pride. There is delicacy in conferring favors, but receiving

which is inherent in some, cannot possibly be understood by coarser minds, who regard the delicacy as affectation, the pain of gratitude as a bashful failing.

THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.-The fair lily is an image of holy innocence; the purple rose, a figure of unfelt love; faith is represented to us in the blue passion-flower; hope beams forth from the evergreen; peace from the olive branch; immortality from immortelle; the cares of life are represented by the rosemary; the victory of the spirit by the palm.; modesty by the blue, fragrant violet; compassion by the ivy; tenderness by the myrtle; affectionate reminiscence by the forget-me-not; natural honesty and fidelity by the oak leaf; unassumingness by the corn flower (the cyane); and the auriculas, "how

friendly they look upon us with their child-like eyes." Even the dispositions of the human soul are expressed by flowers. Thus, silent grief is portrayed by the weeping willow, sadness by the angelica, shuddering by the aspen, melancholy by the cypress, desire of meeting again by the starwort; the night smelling rocket is a figure of life, as it stands on the frontiers between light and darkness. Thus Nature, by these flowers, seems to betoken her loving sympathy with us, and whom hath she not often more consoled than heartless and voiceless men are able to do?