Page:New-York Organ (June 19, 1852).pdf/4

404

“Well, Dinah, here I come to cook the dinner. Mamma has tucked my curls closely under this cap; my arms are as bare as if I was going to dance, and, with this hideous apron, I trust I suit your taste.”

Dinah, showing the whites of her eyes in the most extraordinary manner—

“Yes, missy, but is dat a cook book sticking out of your apron pocket?”

“No, you old lynx-eye! You know well that it is a very interesting novel that I intend to read while the meat is roasting, and recollect that you are to say nothing about it.”

“But, missy, you know dat I have my orders not to touch the dinner, and if you read dat book de meat burn as black as Dinah’s face—what den?”

“Oh! mind your wash tub, Dinah, and leave me to manage. A piece of pork to roast, eh? Lucky I’m no Jew; here’s the dredging-box and the salt, so I’ll commence operations.”

Mrs. Clement—Elsie’s mother—was a thorough New-England housekeeper. Married when a mere child, totally ignorant of domestic affairs, she had experienced, of course, innumerable mortifications in consequence, and having, by perseverance and energy, made herself acquainted with all the details of domestic economy, she determined that Elsie should begin in time to make herself useful as a housekeeper.

But, return we to our heroine. There she sat with her little slippered foot peeping from beneath her neat gingham morning dress, her shining hair confined under her snowy cap of muslin, and in her hands, the book referred to by Dinah. Dinah herself stood near, at the wash-tub, ever and anon looking over her shoulder and muttering, “Nebber saw a gal yet do two things well at once.” But after watching some time, and seeing the salt and flower duly applied, and the meat occasionally turned, she ceased to remonstrate.

At length, the meat and the novel being done, Elsie jumps up from her chair, spatters a handful of soap suds in Dinah’s face, and says “Look here, my dear woolly pate! there’s your meat done to a turn, and your gravy comme il faut, which, translated into African, means, you could not do better yourself. Now, do your duty as I have done mine, dish it up properly and I’ll speak a good word for you to Pompey; so now I’ll make the custard, and then prepare for dinner.”

This being accomplished, with a skip and a bound she vanishes.

The last shining curl was just arranged to her satisfaction, when Dinah presented herself at the door, with both hands raised, and her face looking blacker than ever.

“Oh! dear! Oh! dear! Missy Elsie, it only wants five minutes to dinner, and young Mr. Alfred coming home with your papa; Oh! bless my soul, ’tis too much for dis niggar, if he thinks I cook dat dinner—Oh! dear! Oh! dear!”

“What on earth do you mean?” said Elsie, with a vague foreshadowing of some impending evil.

“Oh!” said Dinah, sitting down in a chair and wiping the perspiration from her face with the corner of her apron. “You take the cup of saleratus, and you baste de meat and season de gravy wid it—and you put peppermint in de custards instead ob de essence of lemon. Land of Goshen! dis nigger nebber discomposed in all her life. Only wants five. minutes to dinner. Oh! all for dat novel book, Miss Elsie.”  —Women, especially young women, either believe falsely or judge harshly of men in one thing. You, young loving creature, who dream of your lover by night and by day—you fancy that he does the same of you? He does not—he cannot; nor is it right he should. One hour, perhaps, your presence has captivated him, subdued him even to weakness; the next he will be in the world, working his way as a man among men, forgetting for the time being your very existence. Possibly if you saw him, his outer self hard and stern, so different to the self you know, would strike you with pain. Or else his inner and diviner self, higher than you dream of, would turn coldly from your insignificant love. Yet all this must be; you have no right to murmur. You cannot rule a man’s soul—no woman ever did—except by holding unworthy sway over unworthy passions. Be content if you lie in his heart, as that heart lies in his bosom—deep and calm—its beatings unseen, uncounted, oftentimes unfelt; but still giving life to his whole being.—The Head of the Family.

☞A writer on Parisian New Year’s gifts, states that there are second-hand shops in Paris, which make a large trade of buying from ladies the useless presents which they have received and selling them at a third of their original cost—a little money being more acceptable sometimes to a lady’s pocket, than a large ornament to her dressing-table. 

I asked her how the hair was disposed of with them. Whereupon, laughing merrily, she threw back her saree, and the disfiguring kind of bandage which concealed the forehead and head, and shaking down a quantity of black silky hair, her eyes sparkling with animation, she really looked so beautiful that I could not refrain from exclaiming against the barbarous style of costume which thus transformed a perfect houri into a bandaged Egyptian mummy. Another personal disfigurement they very ingeniously contrive, by perforating completely their small, delicately formed ears all round, inserting such heavy jewelled pendants that the shape becomes distorted with increasing years, and the appearance of the feature is so unnatural that I was glad to see the saree drawn over it. All these ladies were of small stature, with slight and graceful figures, regular features and a pale olive complexion, which in their estimation is the highest attribute of beauty. My sociable friend pointed out to me a little girl of about nine years of age, who, she said, was so strikingly fair that her hand had been eagerly sought in marriage by several before she attained her fourth year. She had been now, for some years, betrothed to the son of a wealthy Parsee; and when of sufficient age to be separated from her mother, she was to take up her abode in the family of her future husband. She was a sweet, gentle little creature, with an expression of melancholy in her soft, gazelle-like eyes, and judging from the mother’s constant caresses and looks of love bestowed on her child, I could well imagine how heavily the thought of separation must press upon both their hearts. I was delighted to see some specimens of needlework strewed about the room, such as canvas work and embroidery; and upon inquiring how they had learned these arts, I was informed that an English missionary lady had lately given them instructions in the use of the needle; and that the father was so astonished at their progress, that he talked of allowing them to learn the pianoforte, and had actually provided a magnificent instrument in anticipation. I begged to see it, and never shall I forget their delight as I ran my fingers over the notes. The entire female household, including the servant, gathered round me, clapping their hands as I played a few lively airs; and when at length I rose to depart, they all loudly entreated me to come again and spend the whole day with them. * * Their only recreation appeared to consist in giving occasional parties to the ladies of their acquaintance, and making a grand exhibition of silken sarees and costly jewels. I was greatly amused to hear that, of late, it is considered an essential mark of style and fashion to wear English silk stockings beneath their embroidered slippers on a party night, though the usual custom is to have the feet and ankles uncovered, with the exception of the handsome jewelled ornaments which are clasped round them.—Life in Bombay.

The National Intelligencer is publishing a series of letters, from a citizen of Washington, who is travelling in the Old World. In his last letter he thus compares the women there with those of his own country:

{{fine block|In my rambles about the village of Baalbek, I was struck with the beauty of the children, and the extreme youthfulness of some of the Arab mothers. I say several young females, not more than twelve or fourteen years of age, with babies in their arms, evidently their own; and I was told that this is quite common throughout Syria. Many of the women are very beautiful—much more so, I think than either the Circassian or the Turkish women. It was quite enchanting to see their fine complexions, dark eyebrows, and flashing eyes; and for regularity and delicacy of features, I have seldom seen them equalled except in other parts of Syria. In Nazareth, I saw some of the best formed and most beautiful women I had ever seen in any country; I believe it is noted as much for the beauty of its female population among tourists, as for its historical interest; but at no place did I see what I really thought approached the perfection of beauty in so high a degree as in Bethlehem. The women of Bethlehem are absolutely bewitching. I never saw such perfect profiles, such eyes and eyebrows, and such delicate little hands and feet. Not that I mean to say that they are at all to be compared in all the higher attributes of beauty to our own fair countrywomen, for that would be sacrilege. There is nothing in the East, or in Europe either, or any where else that I have visited, to compare with the ladies of Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington. Talk of Parisian beauties! Lively and vivacious they are, to be sure; but not dignified, not queenly, not gentle and modest. Talk of English beauties! Grand enough, fair, but not graceful, and stiff as buckram. Italian beauties; dark, dull and greasy. German, fat and florid; Turkish, tallowy and butterry; all well enough in their way; but; Mashalla! it won’t do to mention them in the same breath with American beauties. {{c|{{larger|{{lsp|.05em|{{uc|New-York Organ}}}}.}}}}

{{c|{{uc|Saturday, June}} 19, 1852.}} {{rule}} {{c|{{uc|Charles Hoover}}, {{sc|Editor}}.}} {{rule|4em}} {{c|{{uc|Terms of the People’s Organ.}}}}

The Organ is published in a large and beautiful quarto form, and mailed every Thursday, in strong wrappers, to all parts of the United States, at the following extraordinary low prices:

{{bc|{{bold block|{{dtpl||One Copy, One Year,|$1.00}} {{dtpl||Six Copies,|5.00}} {{dtpl||Thirteen Copies,|10.00}}}}|width=250px}}

To secure {{sc|The Organ}} at the above rates, the full amount must be in one remittance in advance.

Remittances may be made through the post-office with entire safety. Communications should be addressed, post-paid, to {{uc|Brognard}} & Co., Publishers, 118 Nassau Street, New-York. {{rule}}{{rule}} {{c|{{larger|{{uc|New Volume:}}}}}} {{rule|2em}} {{c|{{larger|{{fine|{{uc|With Fresh Features of Interest.}}}}}}}} {{rule|2em}} {{c|{{uc|The Various Attractions}}}}

In store for the {{sc|Twelfth Volume of the New-York Organ}} are of an order to command the continued approval of our numerous readers, and to win the favorable regard of the thousands whom we hope to enrol on our subscription list.

{{c|{{uc|New and Brilliant Tales.}}}}

The Volume will open with a New and Beautiful Story by {{ci|{{uc|Mrs. M. A. Denison,}}}} Author of the Prize Tales of Gertrude Russel, Life in the Barracks, &c. &c., entitled {{ci|{{uc|Laura Graham,}}

{{asc|A Story for Young Wives;}}}} In our judgment one of the best things this fascinating authoress has produced. {{ci|{{uc|The Sequel to the Slanderer}}}} Having been much inquired for by the readers of that Useful Story, will also be produced. {{c|{{uc|Mrs. E. C. Loomis,}}}} Whose tender and touching delineations of Home Scenes have so often moved our readers, contributes an Original Tale of great merit, while her poetical pieces will continue to enrich our Literary Department. {{c|{{uc|D. W. Bartlett, Esq.,}}}} Whose Brilliant Stories stand among the most sought for, has engaged to try his pen again in our columns, in the same line.

Music, Poetry, Biography, Gleanings from new and choice Books, Editorials, and other Original Matter, with the News of the day, will, as usual, render The Organ rich, various and attractive.

We shall feel much obliged to our country exchanges if they will notice our plans for the coming volume.

It is much to be desired that new subscribers will commence with the volume, as, notwithstanding the large extra number printed of former new stories, we have been exhausted and unable to supply back numbers. To prevent this, subscribe early.

 {{c|{{uc|N. Y. Organ Temperance Melodies.}}}}

The frequent inquiries from all parts of the country for suitable music for Temperance meetings, have induced us to prepare a collection in one book of 48 pages of all the choicest pieces of music published in this office for several years past. We think it superior to anything of the kind yet published. A number of our best composers have contributed to it, and the variety of subjects and tunes will be found quite sufficient for ordinary wants. We shall sell it at the low price of 25 cents a copy, or $2 per dozen.

{{c|{{uc|Notice.}}}}

We must again request subscribers wishing their paper changed to a new post-office to mention the office to which it was previously sent, thus:—John Smith, whose Organ is now sent to Boston P. O., wishes it changed to Portland, Me. Failing to mention their present address, they oblige us to wade through our whole list to find where we have been sending.  ☞A serious illness has disabled the Editor of this paper the past week. Any deficiencies in the present number must be attributed to that fact.  {{c|{{uc|The Fathers Asleep.}}}}

Some months ago the clergy of this city with few exceptions signed a petition to the Legislature, then in session, asking for the passage of a liquor law similar to that of Maine. Among the few who refused to sign was Dr. Spring, pastor of the Brick Church in Beekman Street. A week ago last Sunday morning he preached to his people on the subject, and gave his reasons for withholding his name from the petition. We did not hear him ourselves, but from the report of intelligent friends who were present, and who were deeply grieved to hear the sentiments then uttered, we gather that the Dr. took ground very similar to that held by the defenders of “the accustomed beverages of the people.”

We understand that after laying down the principle that temperance is not to be promoted by legal measures, and urging exclusive reliance upon moral suasion, the Dr. went on to say that he had been one of the earliest advocates of the reform in this city, and had continued to uphold it till he found it was falling into bad hands. Reformed drunkards undertook its advocacy, and that was a bad move. Then politicians mixed themselves up with it, till finally he, the Dr., could stand it no longer, and backed out from all association and co-operation with them, and he advised his congregation to follow his example.

It is wonderful how good and sensible men can unwittingly lend themselves to the aid of a bad cause, and think all the while that they are doing God and man good service, and taking higher ground than other people. Probably Dr. Spring does not dream that he is substantially with the rummies of this city, supporting their cause, and filling their hearts with joy. They would probably be glad to print and circulate his sermon and reward him for his services if he wished it. Probably, too, the Dr. never thought that on the same ground that he assigned for cutting loose from the temperance reform, viz: that bad men and weak men had meddled with it, he should abandon the advocacy of religion, the Bible, the Sabbath, &c., since it is notorious that all these interests have at times been espoused by unworthy advocates.

But what chiefly saddens us is the fact, that at a time when nearly all the judicious and earnest friends of temperance have counselled with great deliberation, and come to the nearly unanimous conclusion that nothing short of stringent laws, honestly executed, will check the horrors of intemperance; when, too, the experiment of legal prohibition has been actually made with the happiest results in one of the most extensive States, in proof of which, facts without number can be seen by all who are disposed to regard them. We say, for Dr. Spring to attack the whole movement and try to array his large and influential Church against it, looks to us like a venturesome assumption of responsibility which no modest and conscientious clergyman should be in haste to take upon him.

The Maine Law plan is no longer a theory merely, with no practical working to attest its efficiency. In numerous instances it has been demonstrated beyond all question that this law has wrought the most surprising and blessed results. Rioting, rowdyism and outrage of every kind have been almost entirely abated. The jails and poor houses have been nearly emptied of tenants. The work of policemen and courts has been diminished two thirds, and hundreds of families that were helpless and wretched have been restored to happiness and plenty, and now rejoice together in the Maine Law as their deliverer. Even drunkards and tipplers have thankfully acknowledged their indebtedness to this wise and decisive legislation as giving them a chance to escape from their bonds. Almost the only objectors to the law have been the liquor-sellers, who care for nothing but their own gains.

Under such circumstances we say, it is humiliating and heart-sickening to see a clergyman like Dr. Spring, who for forty years has witnessed the dreadful effects of the liquor traffic in this city, take his stand against the only effectual device to arrest the horrors of the rum trade which has yet been tried. We record the fact, not in anger, but