leave them for the better land to which all feel she has gone-Heaven.

The fine old lady was quite as remarkable for her aristocratic prejudices as the planter, her husband; her attachment to the Established Church; her blindness for all the abuses of the system, were just as striking as her lord's. But how can I have the heart to utter one single harsh word of the noble-minded woman! Her truth and devotion and open-handed charity would freeze my utterance. Let her rest now as she rested then, after a long, wellspent life, her name and memory coupled only with respect and love!

Let us now pass on to the younger generation, the fairer portion, of course, inasmuch as the lords of creation, old and young, have already received at our hands as much attention as, in a comparative point of view, they deserve. I have elsewhere spoken of the portraits that remain to us of those fair young dames. They are the most accurate authorities remaining of the picturesque costumes and whole outward semblance of Virginia maidens a century and a half ago. I have often mused over them, and been carried back almost in veritable reality, to the times which their originals illustrated and adorned. Fair faces! hanging high up on the carved oak wainscot, cannot we fancy them moved often to displeasure, a charming bright-eyed anger looking down on the stiff fashions of to-dayon their fair descendants twisting their lovely locks into a lame imitation of the Grecian knot, and placing their tender feet, innocent of shoes with heels, upon the common earth? Does it not move them sometimes to a dainty scorn, this mode, we, their male descendants, have of covering ourselves, not dressing, contrasted as it is, so completely, with the ruffles and powder and embroidery of the courtly cavaliers of former days? If they do really feel that displeasure, and are affected by that dainty scorn, who shall say that they are altogether wrong? Let me not, however, enter into a comparison of the past with the present; that is not now my theme; still such comparison may be silently made, with such result as pleases him, by the reader; and to supply this food for thought, let the old portraits tell the fashions of their times

Here they hang in the quiet light of evening, which seems to dwell on them

with pensive pleasure, as we gaze wistfully and in silence on the miniatures of old acquaintances and loves. Let us, perforce, by the power of imagination, bid the portraits come down from their places where they have so long rested quietly; or, better still, we may see the frames with all their antique carving disappear, wreathed with dim cloudsthe trees through the windows in the background wave-and lo! the picture is no longer a mere thing of paint and canvas, but a lovely maiden, for all the world just what she was in her bright Virginia home, a century and a half ago!

She is surrounded by many attractive objects, but she herself is more attractive by far than all of them. The beautiful hair is trained back from the serene temples and arranged in some mysterious manner behind the ears, so as to present everywhere a roundness of outline-the veritable "line of beauty." It is not a wig, be sure of that;-those abominable perukes are for the time out of fashion, and towers of lace above the forehead also. Those glossy curls hanging down by the sparkling eyes are natural curls, as that delicate rose tint in the cheek is not due to art at all. It is the result of the morning walk the fair girl of nineteen summers took today, as the sun rose above the forestthat early walk which none but herself and her sick "mammy" at the quarters knew the object of, as none but those two personages knew what she carried in the small basket on her arm, as she went silently in her plain gown and hood to find the old servant in her cabin.

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She is now in full dress, for the family go out to dine to-day, and certainly the critic must have been hard to please who could have found fault with the general effect." Next to the bright hair-brushed back much after the fashion now styled Pompadour, and it must be confessed, covered with a quantity of snowy powder, the lace around the throat, called point de Venise, attracted the attention. This was not white, as lace is now, but a pale yellow, then the fashion, colored. indeed, very much like sunset clouds in August, if the chronicler may for a moment yield his stylus to the poet. Next came the bodice-stays, as they called them then-of cherry-colored silk, trimmed with blue and silver, the upper

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edge fringed with a long line of foam again. The sleeves were large and full, falling down from the snowy arm, and richly embroidered in white and gold :the "underskirt," of flowered satin, rather long than otherwise; and the gown, properly so called, looped completely back and falling in large furbelows almost to the small feet cased in their delicate high-heeled slippers. Add a number of rich bracelets, rings, and jeweled brooches, and the portrait is complete complete, that is to say, as far as it is in the power of the present chronicler to make it, aided by the lights of history and the result of observation. In sketching it, he has sought to imitate the simplicity and plainness of those worthy authors who elucidate by comment the fashions of to-day in the illustrated magazines: this seemed to him better than treating the subject in that jesting, irreverent spirit which dictated the sketch of young Master Hopeful. How could he, indeed, jest with anything appertaining to that frank maiden with so much tenderness and kindness in her serene eyes, with such a winning smile on her parted rosy lips, as she sits there in the bright morning, more than a century ago!

She is smiling absently at the playful romping of the children-her little brother and sister only nine or ten years old-on whom she looks down with elderly affection from her huge altitude of nineteen summers. Let us not imitate her careless glance, but while the chariot is getting ready, pay our respects to those children-looking first at the little maiden, with her bright hair yet unpowdered and hanging in profuse curls upon her shoulders. Do not turn from her slightingly, good reader-that is your venerated grandmother, whose portrait hangs up in the hall. She has not yet arrived at that exalted station, and romps with a vivacity which you can scarcely believe the good old lady ever to have been guilty of. She wears a little something which is half frock, half coat-I say half coat, because the garment in question opens in front, displaying a figured under-vest, marvelously like a modern waistcoat, and reaches scarcely beyond the knees, where the scarlet silk stockings with their blue clocks meet it. Slippers of yellow leather, with orange-colored heels not quite two inches high, complete the costume-a costume which re

mained nearly unchanged down to the time of the Revolution.

Her little companion's dress is not very dissimilar: the hair, however, is much shorter, and the rosetted shoes have the advantage of being vastly larger, as becomes the sex of the distinguished gentleman who will hang in his turn-all ruffled and be-powdered, with his long ribbon-decorated queue-upon the wall, and be called "grandpa" when the time has come, and look with his age-dimmed eyes on the smoke of the Revolution-perhaps assist that Revolution with his arm, and see the New World inaugurate itself at Yorktown. At present, the worthy gentleman and prospective warrior and statesman, is amusing himself by punching holes all over the pretty colored fan he has taken from the little girl, and the future grandmamma is endeavoring to wrest it from his Vandal grasp, and save the noble Corydons and Phillises which ornament it, from the mortal wounds their bodies are receiving, appealing loudly all this time to her elder sister, who is smiling at her comic contortions. That young lady interposes, and order is restored, and then the chariot rolls up slowly, and the planter and his wife and daughter enter, and are driven quietly to their neighbor's mansion.

They have a grand formal dinner there, and afterwards, what in our day we call a "party," not a late party, to which the guests come at midnight, but an honest evening festival, illuminated equally by the sunset and the tall lights in the bright silver sconces. The waltz and polka and schottisch had the misfortune not to have been then invented: the gavotte, minuet, and reel were danced instead-above all, the minuet. It suited our ancestors the best of all, with its slow stately courtesies and bows, and pompous, cermonious evolutionsit pleased the Master Hopefuls even, a class of worthy gentlemen who in our day affect the polka and schottisch. Master Hopeful is there, and leads forth the fair lady whose toilette we have vainly endeavored to describe. See how like a swan on some placid lake she moves, "ruffling her pure white plumes;" how graceful her low courtesy; the beautiful head gently bent toward the bosom; the knee almost to the floor; the slipper peering from the wide rustling skirt, a spectacle not witnessed in our day any more than that other spec

tacle of Master Hopeful making profound bows, his cocked hat pressed meanwhile devotedly on the left side of his waistcoat, and his Hyperion head, with its ambrosial curls and rapt grimace, reposing gently on his shoulder.

The music is supplied by the tall, white-haired Ethiopian Emperor in the corner there, who plays upon his melodious violin the piece which his august majesty Louis XIV. delighted to honor with his royal nod of approbation-the old court minuet. Strange music! which now sounds like a harmony from the far land of dreams, played by a spirit on a ghostly violin for midnight shadows moving noiselessly! but what bright shadows! brighter far than all the material forms now around us.

The entertainment ends-following an immemorial custom-with the Virginia reel; that is to say, with a divertisement in which fun took its revenge on ceremony-abandon reigned triumphant over stateliness. How those dames got through a veritable Virginia reel, with their furbelows and flounces, and long puffed-out skirts, the present chronicler is at a loss to understand; but there is no reasonable ground to doubt that the reel, with all its rapid crossings and re-crossings, its changing, turning, twisting, and galloping up and back again, was honestly performed. So, with rosy faces and dancing eyes the reel ended, showering down an imperceptible snow of perfumed powder from the perukes of cavaliers and locks of ladies fair. How fortunate a circumstance for the right shoulders of the cavaliers that waltzes and polkas were not invented, for that powder and pomatum on the heads of ladies would have played destruction with their rich doublets!

The present writer cannot follow the young ladies of that pleasant time through the various pursuits of their tranquil, happy lives. Did not space fail him, he would carefully new nib his pen and attempt a sketch of their careering gaily on their spirited horses with their attendant cavaliers through summer forests, their graceful figures enveloped in a costume nearly similar to that of their male companions; their riding hats of white fur, for all the world like those worn then by gentlemen, and their erewhile carefully tucked-up hair falling in long curling locks upon their shoulders, and gathered into queues, secured by gay streaming scarlet rib

bon. Or, he would follow them upon the bright waters of the broad river, some soft sunny day, and listen to their pretty cries of fright when the boat rocked like a sea-gull on the waves; or, better still, steal quietly to their bowers and gaze upon them, busily sewing at good useful household articles, or wasting hours pleasantly over some wondrous landscape in embroidery, or reading to each other the delightful new serial, edited by Mr. Joseph Addison, whose style was becoming vastly popularlaughing heartily, let it be understood, at the reports of causes heard and determined in the Sheer-lane "Court of Honor," Judge Isaac Bickerstaffe presiding.

We might spend a moment pleasantly in watching the taper fingers caressing some little ill-tempered lap dog, resting discontentedly on the silken lap, or listening to the soft voice singing with the harpsichord accompaniment, some sweet Scottish ballad, even then popular, or an air from Dioclesian, or King Arthur; or, in looking on the fair maiden, decked out in a thousand fatal graces, seated in the drawing-room, surrounded by her gallant cavaliers and slaying them with her bright, merry glances! The fair lady has been painted in this latter attitude by two "distinguished names," whose verses, circulated in Williamsburgh about the time of the Revolution, express very well, with a pleasant mixture of gallantry and mythology, the old courtly feeling which we find in the not dissimilar verses of the accomplished Earl of Dorset. To such leaves of the past I must refer the reader; he may yet realize by their assistance some of the picturesque habitudes and figures of the old time. Behold again "in the mind's eye," if not with the actual vision, that long line of tender forms and faces which now beam on us, set like so many stars in the slowly-dying sunset of the past. To me, those gay eyes and smiling lips are very interesting; those pictures, whose originals I seem to have known, are a bright gallery in which I wander with an idle, pensive pleasure, that I cannot describe.

Serene, tender dames! with your powdered golden hair, and floating laces around snowy shoulders, and fair arms that decorate your diamond bracelets; with heads poised like so many graceful fawns, and brilliant eyes, and Lips that

shower down golden smiles!-beautiful maidens, with so much of delicacy, and dainty thought, and sweetness in your mild faces!-if painters tried in vain to reproduce your bloom and freshness, what can I, a poor penman, accomplish without taking refuge in pure rhapsody? Placid and mild, there is still something bright and ardent in your eyes, like the creamy foam of the sea, now cresting the wild surges, then subsiding into rest. Your forms are not material bodies, but fairy figures of moonlight, without weight or size, light as a shadow or a dream!

"Pretty bud!

Lay of the vale, half opened bell of the woods!" what queen of Faery sent you into this cold material world, to soil your hands with common toils and duties, to clog your heart with dislikes or affections for those old be-powdered gallants hanging by you on the wall, in long queues, and most preposterous ruffles, and faces browned by so much sun and wind! Pretty painted butterflies!—why was it not always summer for you-why were your fragile bodies subjected to the cold of the snowy winter, your variegated wings beaten by the chill storm-winds of this wicked world? True you vindicated, as far as lay in your power, that haute noblesse of origin I have accorded to you by a good, wholesome, aristocratic contempt for all men not born “gentlemen ”—turning from all such with pretty disdain in your lovely eyes, and a tranquil sensation of superiority in your little hearts.

Bright creatures! how can we blame you for the tone of voice, the expression of eye and lip which plunged a venomed dagger into the breast of some noble nature, not born " gentleman," and vainly endeavoring to rise, perforce of the god-given majesty of truth and honor, from the low estate imprisoning the wide wings of his great soul? You could not know that such nobleness was there: a hearing was not granted to the criminal: his very name condemned him. You could not listen, even, to a man of his description, much less accord your smiles to him. You were of the sangre azula, he but an ordinary man: you derived your blood from a long line of gentry, he was but a member of the Commons. How could you place upon a level with yourself, a man whom the old planter, your father, viewed with

well-bred condescension -- how give your delicate hand to one whose hands were brown and hard with toil, however noble and honest ?

'Here see again the operation of that shameful arrogance of rank in the old ca valier. Not only did it corrupt itself, but everything which approached and came in contact with it was subdued to its own color, "like the dyer's hand." Not only did the planter patronize—as we now say-all beneath him in social position, but his whole household caught the infection. His sons and daughtersthe very little children, even-demeaned themselves with this kind air of superiority toward some noble, stalwart soul, to whose arms they would have flown for shelter, had peril, that stern leveler of distinctions, visited their soft, easy lives. But let us not blame them too harshly for being apt scholars, and taking their mental shape and moulding from that father so loved and revered for his many noble traits of mind and heart, and deep affection for them. If anything palliates the unchristian prejudice in the strong man, does it not apply with fourfold force to the tender woman, who, living in and breathing everyday the home-atmosphere, has her life and character perforce stamped by it?

Let us not dwell on this ungracious subject, but rather turn our eyes on the noble courage and all-embracing tenderness of the women of the past-on the noble, true-souled dames of revolutionary days, fit mates for our brave grandfuthers, periling their all for Liberty:or, further back, the race true to its splendid instincts everywhere and in all times, on Major Cheeseman's wife on her knees before the royal governor, begging and praying as a boon of priceless value, with tears and sobs, and words that would have melted any heart but that of the dishonored Berkeley-not her husband's pardon for joining the rebellion, his naked pardon for the love of humanity and mercy-but that she, the instigator of his treason, might in his place be sacrificed! That weeping woman on her knees, and remaining there, spite of the dastardly insult offered to her by that obscene vælture, his Excellency Sir William Berkeleythat weeping woman, praying, sobting, asking as a favor she would bless him for, her own destruction-but her husband's life-this is a figure which for