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houses and manufactories? I say we are fools if we work a bit more at this building than our regular hours."

"But our master says that this building is to the greater honour and glory of God," observed a fourth; "and Angelo says, that a true man takes more pleasure and delight in seeing his work well and nicely done, than in the wages he receives for it."

"Angelo is a greenhorn, who has bewildered your senses with his fantastic ideas!" growled Piedro, at the moment when the subject of his remark joined the group.

"It is not well, Piedro," said Angelo, in a quiet and modest tone, "to dampen the energy and industry of the workmen by such speeches as yours. How Master Falkner would grieve to hear you speak thus, for the desire to see the edifice quickly completed gives him no rest, neither night or day. He is an old man, and his days are numbered; for love of him, my friends, if you will not for the glory of your Great Master in heaven, be industrious and persevering in your work."

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'Angelo is right, and we have spoken very wrongly and stupidly just now," said a young workman, as, with a blush of shame upon his cheeks, he resumed his labour. Most of the other workmen followed his example, with the exception of Piedro, who gruffly exclaimed, "Hold your tongue, and keep your wisdom to yourself, or else run and carry tales to the master, and tell him what you have been listening to."

"I do not wish to answer your unjust speech," replied Angelo, "but only wish you to come with me, for the staging upon which

we are to work threatens to break down."

near by, felt a desire to look at the beautiful structure. He dressed himself and looked out of the window, for the moon shone clear and bright. He had not looked long at the unfinished steeple, when he thought he saw a figure moving about among the boards and rafters of a high staging.

"Can Piedro again be working mischief?" he said to himself. "I must at once see what this means."

Hastily he drew his cloak around him, left the house, and as he well knew every nook and corner of that large building, he soon reached a place whence he could overlook the steeple. He was not mistaken; upon the highest staging stood the foreman; Angelo at once recognised his short, broad-shouldered figure.

"What can he be doing up there so late as this?" thought Angelo; "surely he did not ascend that place at midnight from love for the master or anxiety for the edifice."

Cautiously he approached the staging upon which he had seen Piedro a moment before; the latter, however, had disappeared, and no one was upon the staging. But scarcely had Angelo set his foot upon it, when with a fearful crash it broke down, and the youth was precipitated down that fearful height. In falling, Angelo saw the figure of the wicked foreman standing securely upon one of the rafters; but that figure was twice as large as the living Piedro, and a fiery red apron was wrapped like a cloak around his shoulders, and upon his red hat he wore a black cock-plume.

The noise of the falling staging quickly awoke all the neighbours, and soon people were at hand to extricate Angelo from the ruins. Master Falkner too appeared, and was greatly dis

tressed at the idea that evil had befallen his

The foreman muttered a curse between his young friend; but, wonderful to relate, the teeth, and his furious look rested upon the latter had not received the least injury. He youth, who silently walked before him. He had fallen upon a pile of straw mattresses, had maliciously laid the plan to kill or disable which lay on the lowest staging, and which Angelo for a long time; as he knew that the had been used the day before, to protect stalatter was always the first to mount and tuary and stone basso-relief work against inexamine a staging, he had purposely con- jury on hoisting. On the following day already, structed it badly. For he hated Angelo, and he again appeared at his work, although his hoped easily to seduce all the labourers to his escape from injury was looked upon by all as evil ways, if Angelo, in whom they all had cona great miracle; the foreman, however, had fidence, and whom they loved, was no longer disappeared that night, and was never again among them. seen or heard from afterwards.

Angelo did not speak to his master of what had happened, but kept quietly on in his correct course. By his indefatigable industry and his friendly admonitions, he advanced the edifice as much as possible, and foiled every bad intention of the foreman.

One evening Angelo lay restlessly upon his couch; the building of the cathedral had advanced as far as the erection of the steeple, and Angelo, who lived in a little attic room very

On one bright day, not long after the occurrence of the above events, the city of Vienna exhibited signs of great excitement and commotion. From every part of the empire, princes, nobles, and brave knights, fair ladies, yeomen and their wives and children, had come to Vienna to see the magnificent structure of St. Stephen's Cathedral, which was now completed, and which the Pope himself was to dedicate on this day. From every spire in the city, deep

THE EDITOR'S TABLE.

toned bells called the Christian people to the solemn ceremony, and few who could possibly come there, stayed away.

Only the master, whose mind had created this splendid edifice, the pride and glory of his old age, only he lay sick and exhausted upon his couch, and whilst thousands repaired to the cathedral, he alone had to remain behind. Since the day when the evergreen wreath had been placed by the workmen upon the finished steeple, he had not been able to leave his house. As he heard the solemn and deep call of the bells, as he even heard the sound of the chorals through the lonely stillness around him, he folded his weary hands across his breast, and said sadly:

"Then I am not permitted to see that edifice completed; the house that I build for the honour and glory of my Father in Heaven! I am not permitted to kneel and pray among my fellow-men, and there to thank the Almighty for the strength he gave me to complete my last work, for I feel it, that my earthly labour is now at an end! Oh it. is a hard, sad fate, but I will not murmur against the will of my Creator."

And he lay quietly and suffering, but from his sunken eyes bitter tears course slowly down his pale cheeks. Suddenly, even as in that night when he found the plan for his edifice, the door opened and Angelo entered; his figure appeared to the old master's eyes taller and

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nobler than ever before, and his face had a bright transparent appearance. He approached the sick-bed, and with a voice, soft and gentle, but whose tones directly spoke to the heart, he said,

"Arise, your faith will help you, and the rich fount of God's mercy will again make you young and strong. I will conduct you to the Cathedral of St. Stephen's which you have

built."

And suddenly the old master feels a wonderful strength; he feels that he again has the use of stiffened and lame limbs; he rises in his bed, his eye is again clear, his foot strong, and he takes the hand of the youth, who conducts him to the open portal of the cathedral.

There the congregation is kneeling, while solemn chorals are heard from the deep-toned organ; and Master Falkner as he beholds the perfect beauty of his work, sinks upon his knees, and in pious inspiration exclaims:

"Thou hast done this, oh Lord, my Father, and I have been but an humble instrument in Thy hands; but now I will gladly die, since my eyes have been thus blessed."

Again he folded his hands across his breast, a blissful smile played upon his lips, and he sank dead on the ground. Those who stood around him, saw a handsome youth resembling Angelo, but standing in a halo of light, bend over the dead master, then ascend like a cloud of incense and melt into air.

THE EDITOR'S TABLE

Is modelled after the city of its birth, being made up entirely of rectangles and plane surfaces. It is, to speak geometrically, a rectangular parallelogram, five feet long by three and a half wide, and standing just two feet four inches from the floor. The plane superficies, thus described, is of black walnut, covered with cloth, and unencumbered except with the ordinary writing implements standing in the centre;-for however lit(t)er-ary it may seem to have a table strewn with books and periodicals and rolls of MSS., yet in truth the "Editor," like the gladiator, wants nothing so much as a clear field. He may have a lounge on one side of the sanctum for a friend who calls to chat. He may have his shelves well laden with books. He may have his closet, with pigeon-holes unnumbered, where in well-assorted rows the "prose and poetry" of honoured contributors await their turn, in the various stages between receipt, acceptance, printing, and publication. He may even indulge in the mystery of drawers in his table, one, say, to hold his paper, another his portfolio, another his unanswered letters, another his manuscripts not yet disposed of. But "the table" itself must be clear of all obstructions. What oceans of elbow-room does it not give? How its rectangles help to detect every deficient or hypermeter syllable in the "verses" so often laid out upon it for dissection? How its dead level harmonizes with but too many of the articles spread out there for examination? When a new book is to be criticised, what immense facilities for inspecting it, near by or at a distance, inside and outside, title-page and binding,

paper and typography, letter-press and embellishments and all the varied lights and shadows of literary excellence!

Will some of our poetical correspondents give us a translation of Lamartine's Impromptu?

Will the ingenious author of the response to Du Solle's Poet-Martyr have the goodness to communicate her name?

GEORGE R. GRAHAM.

It is with much gratification that we are enabled to welcome back our friend George R. Graham, Esq., to his old position in the Magazine which has always borne his name. To know him intimately is to esteem him, and none have had better opportunities of appreciating his worth than we. The business relations of the publishers of Sartain's Magazine with him, commenced as long as ten years ago, one in the capacity of artist, and the other as confidential clerk, and this continued uninterruptedly during the whole of his triumphant career as Proprietor and Editor of "Graham's Magazine." Changes of fortune had severed his connexion with it as to ownership some time before the commencement of our own very successful enterprise, and the editorship was largely shared by other hands; but now it is again emphatically "Graham's Magazine," and it is in cordial sincerity we say to him "God Speed."

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FIG. 1.

EVENING DRESS.

FIGURE 1. Evening dress.-The coiffure here is extremely pretty and very simple. It consists of a small ostrich feather on each side, connected by a wreath of foliage of green velvet, each leaf being edged with silver. Hair in plain bandeaux. Robe of tulle with two skirts, the lower of tulle de Lyons, trimmed with nine rows of narrow blonde; the second skirt is of tulle-illusion, cut in waves around the edge, and trimmed with seven rows of blonde, set on very full and following the outline. The bouquet de jupe placed at the side is composed of foliage like that of the coiffure. Corsage with berthe-châle and covered with narrow blondes. Four rows of similar blonde form the sleeves.

FIGURE 2. Evening dress.-Cap of rich lace ornamented with flowers and enveloping the back part of the head. Rose of taffetas broché, rose, white, and in the foliage green. Skirt without trimming. Corsage high behind and upon the shoulders, and cut low and square in front. The general tendency of dress is very much toward this style of corsage. Trimmed around the edge with rather wide lace. Sleeves demi-long, and finished with two rows of lace similar to that on the corsage.

FIGURE 3. Toilette de ville.--Bonnet of black beaver, lined with white satin disposed in folds, and extending forward

FIG. 2.

EVENING DRESS.

only to a little more than one half the length of the facs, and finished out with a band of black frizzed feathers. Upon the left side of the bonnet is a crescent, formed of black satin riband arranged in numerous small folds placed close one over the other. The crown is rounded behind. The cape is of black satin lined with white; the brides also are white. Redingote of green satin dépoli. Corsage high and close-fitting, and trimmed with eleven rows of lace de laine forming a V. The upper four rows extend to the seam upon the shoulder, but the others, seven in number, diminish in length gradually to the waist. Round the neck is a narrow edging of white lace. Upon the skirt is an apron-like trimming of the same material, narrow at the top, but quite wide at the bottom. The arrangement of the lace in this trimming is zigzag, something in the shape of an M. All these laces are a

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TOILETTE DE VILLE.

little gathered, and extend one over the other. Sleeves a little short, and finished with five rows of the lace de laine. White puffing under-sleeves.

FIGURE 4. Ball Toilette.-Front hair in rounded puffing bandeaux. Upon the head, a little in the Marie Stuart style, is a fillet of foliage, and at the side, pink flowers, in velvet, with long branches, slender and flexible, falling upon the shoulders. The back hair is enclosed in a little coif composed of foliage, arranged upon purl. This coif or cap has the form of a crown with the several crossings of the foliage.

Dress of white taffetas. Corsage cut lower in front than at the shoulders, trimmed with a berthe of white blonde, in dents. This berthe is formed thus:-starting from the right shoulder, a row of the blonde passes round behind to the left shoulder, where it underlies a similar row starting thence, and, diminishing gradually in width across the front, comes to a point at the right shoulder. This berthe has very little fulness elsewhere than at the shoulders: it is trimmed at the top with flowers, like those of the coiffure, forming little bouquets at the shoulders, and a row diminishing thence to the front.

The three very light overskirts of white tulle have each a heavy hem. The first, starting from the waist, descends en biais, and, passing entirely round, comes up on the other side near the starting point. The second and third follow the same arrangement. Being transparent, they are seen one over the other. Upon the right side are five bouquets corresponding in character with the other flowers. The form of these bouquets is peculiar; each has a head of flowers, and two branches of foliage placed right and

left, at an oblique angle with each other, one being much the longer. They are arranged so that the longer of these branches alternately extends towards the right and left, following the course of a hem. These ornaments are very beautiful and tasteful, the light, flowing, and delicate character of the foliage and flowers counteracting the effect of their profusion.

The prevailing fancy for rich fabrics causes stuffs brochées to be worn later than usual this spring. Many robes prepared in Paris, and intended to be worn very late in the season, are of taffetas lightly broché, some on turtle-coloured ground with white figures, some gray with white figures, some blue with black figures, and others with blended blue and green ground with figures green and white.

For trimming on robes in the spring, narrow lace matching the stuff is much in vogue, placed before in many rows and much gathered or turned in spirals. Dresses are made shorter in front than formerly, and, consequently, slippers take the place of boots.

For full evening dress of young persons the following are admired. First: Wreath of red currants and changeable foliage, falling almost to the shoulders. Robe of white taffetas with two plain jupes; berthe cut sloping upon the shoulders and bordered before with a ruche of riband. Corsage bouquet like the coiffure, with long light foliage falling even to the waist. Second: Coiffure of heath-flowers disposed in a little puff, placed upon the top of the head; front hair turned back à la Valois. Robe of rose tulle with two skirts upon an underskirt of satin, each skirt with five or six rather wide plaits. Corsage bouquet of heath with large loose branches.

EDITORIAL.-ART NOTICES.

9

BRACKETT'S WRECK.

BY CHARLES G. LELAND.

We believe that all arbitrary divisions of mankind according to their intellectual characteristics, are generally conceded to be absurdities. The political utilitarian, who sees in his fellow-beings merely the productive and nonproductive, or who balances the growers of corn and wool against the fruges consumere nati, would be at issue with the scholar, who confidently classifies them as the ignorant or the enlightened. The advocates of faith and morals would be prone to adopt a very different standard from that of the Mephistophelian cosmopolite, whose analysis of human nature simply results in the comparison of anvil to hammer, wolf to lamb, or cheater to cheated, the latter, indeed, being akin in absurdity to the unfortunate being who, struck by the hypocrisy of this world, divided its inhabitants into "the found out" and the "not found out;" or the Lynn sutor who recognised only the shoemaking and non-shoemaking units of humanity.

But though such classifications can never be established for mankind at large, we must yet assert that they are absolutely true and necessary when applied to those subdivisions of actors or thinkers created by their mental tastes or necessities. In a one-sided point of view, the divisions of the utilitarian or scholar are founded in sense and justice, and no rational mind will cavil at them.

And if there be a branch of intellectual effort eminently capable of such a separation, it is that of criticism, or the appreciation and judgment of excellence in literature and art. As long as Nature shall abstain from creating men entirely free from prejudice, or equal in mental abilities, so long will there exist in criticism those positive and negative divisions of judges, whose appreciation of merit is determined on the one hand, by the existence or nonexistence of faults and defects, and on the other, by the excellencies which a work presents.

To this classification the reader, whose eclecticism has not been pushed to extremes, will probably assent, adding in his own mind,-"And the part of a truly wise man is to side with neither, but to strive to find the juste milieu between!" To which we reply,-"By no means: examine the system more closely, and you will be convinced that he whose judgment is influenced rather by the excellencies than the defects of a work, and who criticises that which was created expressly for admiration by the degree of admiration which it excites, is infinitely nearer the

truth than the poor carper, who, incapable of the effort of appreciation, lazily catches at real or imagined blemishes, and cries, 'It is nothing!'"

The fault-finder sees nothing-knows nothing beyond his own limited range. His puddle is always the oceanhis sty the universe. But the admirer, the appreciator, includes him, with all his knowledge-all his philosophy -in a very small corner of his own sphere, and even admits as useful truth all of his remarks and all his observations-barring only the conclusion and application.

This is the inevitable classification to which we are led. if we adopt with Quatremére de Quincy the principle of excellence in kind, as the true standard of every work of art, which is, in fact, simply a requisition that the work be judged, not according to our tastes or distastesto our fondness for the romantic, material, or spiritualbut that it be executed according to the subject, with all the perfection of which the artist is capable.

But it may be asked,-"Are we then to shut our eyes to every defect, however glaring, and blindly open the path to conceited ignorance of every description, conditioning only that it bring a few pearls in its pack of trash ?" By no means:-certainly not. There are two descriptions of fault (apart from understood offences against morals and religion), against which the critic is bound to declare war to the knife-to follow with the fire of ridicule and the sword of severity, and to give, as he would assuredly receive, no quarter. And these faults may all be summed up in three words:-Mannerism, and Mechanical deficiency. The latter of these may always be cured by industry; the former, when not proceeding from absolute idiocy, insanity, or incurable narrow-mindedness, by a change of style, subject, or thought. If the reader be disposed to consider these remedies as in some wise identical, we for one are in no ways inclined to differ with him.

But a work of art is not to be absolutely condemnedas very many are inclined to think-even when disgraced by mechanical defects, or even by mannerism, provided always that these do not predominate. There are gross defects in the anatomy and drapery of the early Gothic masters-there are mannerism and affectation, even to the top of the measure, in the paintings of Vanderwerff and Greuze, or the sculptures of Bernini; and yet these will always find places in galleries, or admirers-and justly so, as long as Genius, in spite of the trammels with which ignorance and circumstances have loaded it, can make itself felt. But for their IMITATORS-those who, in spite of better lights, blindly persist in copying even their defects, our only cry should be-" Away with them!"—if not into outer darkness, at least back to the school, the lecture-room, and the atelier, until they are capable, in some way, of feeling God and appreciating nature.

It is chiefly to modern works of art that the principle of excellence in kind should be applied in all its rigour. We know the earlier masters, we understand or feel the influences and circumstances which inspired them. History and biography have made them, with their times, clear to us. But how are we to judge of the productions of this complex and confused age, which understands all things save itself? How are we to know whether a Greek Slave is the genuine result of the naturalism of the nineteenth century, or a subject masked in imitations of the classic day? To which we reply, that we know of no better criterion than that already given.

It may be objected by the ignorant and unreflecting, this is a principle easier of enunciation than of application. To which we reply that we are acquainted with no

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