tude. The "Silent People" are around you at every step. You may not see them-for they are dressed in invisible green; but they see you, and that unaccountable whispering and buzzing sound one often hears in what we call the wilderness, what is it, or what can it

be, but the fairies making merry at your expense, pointing out to each other the extreme silliness of your meditative countenance, and laughing like to split at your fond conceit of being alone among a multitude of creatures far wiser than yourself?

Erplanation of the Print of the Fashions.

CARRIAGE DRESS.

A GOWN of emerald green gros de Naples the corsage, made nearly but not quite up to the throat, is plain behind, and arranged in drapery across the upper part of the front. A narrow lace tucker stands up round the top of the bust. The sleeve is en gigot; the hem not quite so deep as usual, and finished at top with two satin rouleaus to correspond with the dress. The mantle is of Cachemire it is striped lavender and white; the latter stripes are printed in a tea-green pattern; it is lined with ruby peluche, is made with a high standing collar, and a pele rine that reaches nearly to the knee; the collar, pelerine, and front of the mantle, are bordered with peluche. Black velvet capote, trimmed both inside of the brim and round the erown with coques of rose-colored gauze ribbon. Bottines to corres

pond with the dress.

EVENING DRESS.

A low dress composed of velvet. The color is violet d'évêque. The lower part of the corsage is tight to the shape; the upper part arranged in horizontal folds before and behind. Béret sleeve, very short and moderately full. A superb Marino FalieTo sleeve of white blond lace partially covers the velvet one: it is drawn up in the drapery style, on the shoulder, by a satin bow to correspond with the dress. A fall of blond lace

is arranged in the tunic style down the fronts and round the bottom of the hem. It is attached to the dress by a satin rouleau. The head-dress is a black velvet chapeau de Rosine; the crown very low; the brim, divided in the centre, has one side larger than the other. Knots of rose-colored gauze ribbons adorn the inside of the brim; a bandeau of the same, with knots on one side and behind, goes round the crown ; and a bouquet of rose-colored ostrich feathers falling in different directions is placed on one side.

MORNING DRESS.

A redingote à la Louise, of canary-colored gros de Naples. The corsage sits close to the shape; and it turns back in the shawl style, so as to form a point on each shoulder, and one in the centre of the back. It comes up to the throat behind, but displays the upper part of the chemisette in front. The sleeve is à la Médicis. Four rouleaus of blue satin, placed near each other, adorn the border of the corsage; and a fall of blond lace, set on rather full, is attached to the edge. Two satin rouleaus are placed close to each other, above the hem; and one marks each side of the front, leaving a small plain space in the centre. The hat is of gros de Naples to correspond, trimmed with very pale pink gauze ribbon, and small fancy flowers of the same color. Chemisette of English tulle, finished round the top with a triple frill of the same.

said one of the party," for I went with my friend in search of the stolen property, when on entering the place of rendezvous, (whither we were attracted by smoke is suing through the door,) we discovered a number of rats boiling the potatoes in a large iron pot; some were stirring the fire, and the rest eating them with salt, out of a salt-cellar, which some of the rats had been seen to carry, a short time before, out of the kitchen."

Health. When nature feels the flow of its blood pure and unimpeded, what unutterable gladness bathes the spirit in that one feeling of-health! Then the mere conciousness of existence is like that emotion which Milton speaks of as breathed from the bowers of Paradise

"Vernal delight and joy, able to drive

All sadness but despair!"

It does more for despair itself cannot prevail against it. What a dawn of bliss rises upon the soul with the dawn of light, when the soul is healthful as the sun! Then

"It feels that it is greater than it knows." God created the earth and the air beautiful through the senses; and at the uplifting of a little lid, a whole flood of imagery is let in upon the spirit, all of which becomes part of its very self, as if the enjoying and the enjoyed were one. Health flies away like an angel, and her absence disenchants the earth. What shadows then pass over the ethereal surface of the spirit, from the breath of disordered matter!-from the first scarcely-felt breath of despondency, to the last scowling blackness of despair! Often men know not what power placed the fetters upon them-they see even that a link may be open, and that one effort might fling off the bondage; but their souls are in slavery, and will not be free. Till something like a fresh wind, or a sudden sunbeam comes across them, and in a moment their whole existence is changed, and they see the very vanishing of their most dismal and desperate dream.

The Disappointed Angler.-During the attack on the Hotel de Ville, when the banks of the Seine echoed with discharges of cannon and musketry, an elderly humorist was seen with great tranquillity fishing near the baths of Vigier. On being advised to relinquish his sport for that day at least, he coolly remarked: " They are making such a cursed noise yonder that the fish are frightened: I have not had a bite these two hours!"

A Scottish Easterly Harr.-Earth and heaven are not only not worth looking at in an Easterly Harr, but the Visible is absolute wretchedness, and people wonder why they were born. The visitation begins with a sort of characterless haze, waxing more and more wetly obscure, till you know not whether it be rain, snow, or sleet,

Yet

that drenches your clothes in dampiness, till you feel it in your skin, then in your flesh, then in your bones, then in your marrow, and then in your mind. Your blinking eyes have it too—and so, shut it as you will, has your gaping mouth. the streets, though looking blue, are not puddled, and the dead eat lies dry in the gutter. There is no eavesdropping-no gushing of water-spouts. To say it rained would be no breach of veracity, but a mere misstatement of a melancholy fact. The truth is, that the weather cannot rain, but keeps spit, spit, spitting, in a style sufficient to irritate Socrates-or even Moses himself; and yet true, veritable, sincere, genuine, and authentic Rain could not-or if be could would not-so thoroughly soak you and your whole wardrobe, were you to allow him a day to do it, as that shabby imitation of a tenth-rate shower, in about the time of a usual-sized sermon. So much cold and so much wet, with so little to show for it, is a disgrace to the atmosphere, which it will take weeks of the sunniest which the weather can afford to wipe off But the stores of sunniness, which it is in the power of Winter in this northern latitude to accumulate, cannot be immense, and, therefore, we verily believe that it would be too much to expect that it ever can make amends for the hideous horrors of this Easterly Harr. O the Cut-throat!

At a dinner of the African Institution, one of the toasts intended to be given was "the health of King Henry of Hayti," which the person who was to announce it to the company, and who had never heard of such a personage, converted into "The health of Henry the Eighth."

Come in Time." I never come late to a friend's dinner," says Boileau, “for I have observed, that when a company is waiting for a man, they make use of that time to load him with abuse."

Lord Byron tells us, that the most beautiful women he ever beheld (and he had some experience), he saw leveling the road broken down by the torrents of Delvinachi and Libochabo, in Albania.

The "Book of the Seasons," the joint production of William and Mary Howitt, may be shortly expected. It is spoken of as likely to interest, in an extraordinary degree, the genuine admirers of nature. Vignette embellishments, from designs by Mr. Bagg, will accompany the work.

Mr. Carne's new work, "The exiles of Palestine," a tale of the Holy Land, will, we understand, be ready for publication early in the ensuing month. From the author's intimate acquaintance with the scenery and peculiarities of the Holy Land, this will doubtless prove a work of unusual interest. It is, we believe, the first of the kind describing those interesting regions that has been written from actual observation.

"Nor to-day, George, but to-morrow week," said Mrs. Coventry. "And why to-morrow week, Sarah?" replied her husband.

"Can't you guess, sir?" rejoined Mrs. Coventry, in a tone of assumed rebuke.

"To-morrow week - to-morrow week," he repeated, as if really endeavoring to task his memory"to-morrow week is ".

"The second of June, sir," inter rupted Mrs. Coventry, in the same tone of playful displeasure.

"Oh! I remember now-aye, to be sure-to-morrow week is the second of June-and the second of June-isn't that the second anniversary of our wedding-day, love?"

"Yes, dear George, and the first birthday of my sweet boy," folding the infant which she held in her arms rapturously to her bosom.

"The first birthday of our first child," said he, with a sly emphasis on the word "first."

"Of our first and ONLY child," murmured Mrs. Coventry, with an emphasis equally marked, but far different in expression; while, as she spoke, she clasped it to her with a mournful eagerness, as if she then felt it was a precious, but destined to be a solitary, treasure.

There was this feeling at her heart. She could not account for it; she could not get rid of it; but whenever, in those fond anticipations which are among the brightest visions of early wedded life, 43 ATHENEUM, VOL. 5, 3d series.

they talked of their future family, and of what their domestic plans should be, as their family increased, she always seemed to have a foreboding that this boy would alone be spared to her; that whatever other children she might have, they would only pass through a short existence to the grave. At first, her husband ridiculed the presentiment; it was too strong, however, for ridicule to overthrow, and gradually became too sad for it to approach. It was no less inaccessible to reasoning; for all that affection could obtain, was the tender assurance she would try to think of it as little as possible.

And who were George and Sarah Coventry? The reader shall know all that I know myself respecting them.

George Coventry was found one summer's evening under a hawthorn tree, sewed up in a hand-basket. The person who found him was an eccentric old bachelor, of the name of Price Williams, who was very fond of nightingales; and there was a coppice, about a quarter of a mile from his house, which the nightingales loved to frequent. Hither he would betake him about sunset ; and seated at the foot of this hawthorn, listen to the ravishing melody of the lone songstress till his maid Jemima came to tell him supper was ready, at the hearing of which, he was never known to tarry another minute for the sweetest des

eant that ever rolled, rich and musical, from a nightingale's throat. On the evening in question, he found his seat pre-occupied by the little stranger; and Jemima was infinitely perplexed, as she saw her master returning so soon with a basket in his hand, which at a distance appeared like her own market-basket. But her own marketbasket was hanging in its place, behind the kitchen door. It was clear, therefore, the basket belonged to somebody else, though she knew of nobody who had such a kind of basket but widow Pugh, of Rosebank cottage; and widow Pugh, as she remarked to herself, "lived in a clean opposite direction to the nightingales."

Meanwhile, the old gentleman stalked on, stately and sedate, with this puzzling basket, which he seemed to carry with much care; a circumstance that naturally increased Jemima's perplexity. He passed into the house through the front door, instead of through the kitchen, as he was commonly wont to do. This was adding fuel to the fire of curiosity that already burned fiercely enough in Jemima's breast. He entered his room. She heard him talking to himself. Presently his bell rung, and Jemima was the most punctual of servants in answering it.

"See whether this is a boy or girl," said he, pointing to the infant, which he had taken out of the basket, and laid upon the table. "If it is a boy," he continued, "we'll nurse it between us; if a girl, it shall go to the parish."

"Lord, sir!" exclaimed Jemima, lifting up her hands in astonishment, "I dare say it is nothing but a byblow!

"Well, sir," continued Jemima, looking in the infant's face, "I can't tell whether it is boy or girl, for my part-not I-but I dare say it is one or the other, for it is God's providence that these things when they come, never come out of nature."

"No," said her master, scratching behind his left ear; "they are all in nature, Jemima."

"Poor little thing!" she added, "it is for all the world just like a wax doll in a sweet sleep. I'll be sworn it is a girl, it is so quiet, and looks so innocent."

It happened unfortunately for Jemima's characteristics of her sex, that at this moment Mr. Williams unpinned from the bosom of the infant a piece of paper, till then unperceived by him, on which were written these words, in a small but legible hand-" George Coventry,

preserve the name, whatever fate betide the bearer of it."

Mr. Williams adhered to his declaration, save that he and Jemima did not nurse the boy between them. Inquiries were instituted to discover the parents, but they prov ed unsuccessful. There were those, indeed, who hinted, that if the old gentleman could find out the mother, they would be bound to name the father-an insinuation which always greatly scandalized Jemima, who was not without a theory of her own, however, to explain cause and effect; for, as little George grew up, she discovered a striking likeness between him and sundry "hussies" of the place, whom, as she said, "she could not abide to look upon." Nay, on one occasion, she went so far as to remark to her master, that "the rogue was getting just such a double chin as the vicar, and was wonderfully like him too, when he had his black pinafore on." But she never ventured to repeat this, after the old gentleman admonished her she was liable to do penance in a white sheet in the parish church, for speaking slander.

When George was in his fifteenth year, his benefactor died, leaving him well provided for; though the legacy was subject to sundry whimsical conditions. Among other things, it was required that "he should make choice of the army or navy, but must embrace one of those services within twelve months after