The ladies' garland. [volume], January 26, 1828, Page 131, Image 3

About The ladies' garland. [volume] (Harpers-Ferry, Va. [W. Va.]) 1824-1828

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title an obscure and crestless adventurer to
challenge the son of a king.'
‘Then let this badge. Don Pedro, satisfy you
that I am not only entitled to oiler defiance to
a younger brother of the House of Puilugal,
but even to the proudest monarch in the world,
who could not plead his quality to decline the
challenge of a Knight oi St. dago without risk
ing the name of Craven,’ said the cavalier,
throwing off the cloak he had hitherto worn,
and pointing to the cross of that illustrious or
der.
‘ By the sou! of the great Edward, my father!’
exclaimed the Duke of Lancaster, kindling with
the knightly enthusiasm of his youth,‘if Don
Pedro refuse now to meet you in the lists, 1
will myself till his place, and esteem myself ho
noured with breaking a lance with so worthy an
adversary.’
‘And yet, of all men breathing, the Duke, of
Lancaster is the last whom I would choose to
engage, even in mimic hostilities,’ returned the
Knight.
The Duke of Lancaster eyed him with atten
tion for a moment, and then said—“ Beshrew
mv heart, Sir Knight, I would 1 knew what fa
ther is made proud by a son like thee.’
‘And I, Sir Duke,’replied the Knight, ‘ if it
were permitted me to call your Grace father,
would envy the heir of any legitimate monarch
on earth his title or expectations.’
‘ I like your spirit, brave youth,' returned the
Duke, smiling; ‘it well accords with your
knightly powers, and, had 1 ten champions like
thee in my army, 1 should trust soon to see the
claims of my Duchess to the crown of Castile
recognized, and the usurping family ol Tras
tamara reduced to their duty.
‘Truth, ray Lord Duke,' replied he, ‘ the au
dacious rebels would well deserve any chastise
ment your Grace could devise, if they submitted
not to such fair sovereignty ’—lie bowed bis
plumed head to the royal gallery as he spoke,
and the Dutchess and her daughter returned
his salutation with equal courtesy. ‘ Go
to, go to. Sir Knight!’ said the Duke, laughing;
‘ your gallantry well becomes you ; but if you
carry it much farther, 1 shall suspect your busi
ness at my court is not so much on chivalric
emprize as to ensnare the heart of our fair
heiress.’—‘He who can win her may well de
serve to wear her!’ said the Knight; ‘there
fore to the lists, Don Pedro! I trust we shall
both contend like men on whom bright eyes are
glancing.’
The particulars of the comhat, though long
and furious, it is unnecessary to relate. It may
readily be imagined that it possessed powerful
interest to the spectators, especially to the La
dy Catharine, who, pale and breathless, await
ed the event in excessive agitation ; yet could
:ot withhold a smile when the Knight of St da
go, with a malicious blow, scatter' d Dun Pe
Iro’s white plumes and mange blossoms to the
gale. The next moment, however, was suffi
cient to restore her to seriousness, when, with a
furious shock, the lances of both combatants
•.ver>' shivered, and horses and horsemen went
dow n, together, with a tremendous crash.
[to he continued.'!
THE WEATHER.
Che season, ’us granted, is not very gay,
Hut we cannot in justice complain of the weather;
I'o- if changes delight us, we have in one day,
storing, summer, and autumn. and winter toge
ther
VARIETY.
FROM THF. BOSTON III I.I.ETI X.
FASHION.
This is a subject on which millions of lu
cubrations have already gone lorth—a sub
ject that has been viewed in as many differ
ent lights, and treated in as many various
inodes, a.-> the multifarious contrivances of
its votaries might possibly justify—which
is saving a great deal. We are riot about
to add another descant to the immeasure
able mass already accumulated of strictures
on the structure of igs, and treatises on
the treatment of dispepsia. After one ge
eral remark, we shall coniine our animad
versions to a particular point. We would
observe then, that, in the articles of exterior
dress, the gentlemen have, for the present
season, a most decided advantage over the
ladies. Their snug, unostentatious, close
bodied surtouts, ot a grave hue. are quite
becoming; while the expensively coarse
and flaring rob-roys of the prettier sex, are
deplorably deficient in beauty and in taste.
Nothing, however, is more fashionable than
these gaudy, uncouth, and shapeless cloaks
—while nothing can present a more ugly,
inelegant, arid bedraggeld appearance.—
W e are neither iustidious nor ungallant—
this we can prove—for we protest against
this fashion, on the very ground that it
seems to have been invented to conceal de
formities; when, to our certain knowledge,
it has often enveloped the most beautiful
forms in nature 1
nut we pass to the topic in view—viz :
the Honmt. The prevailing niotle with re
gard to this portion ot female attire, ishide
ous in the extreme. It evinces neither pro
priety, adaptation to the “human face de
vine, ’’ fitness to the season, convenience,
gentility of style, nor any other quality un
der heaven that should recommend its ge
neral adoption. It is a luge periphery of
silk and pasteboard, circuinmured with tre
mendous entanglements of red, blue and
yellow ribbons, and overtopped with for
j midable congeries of lofty feathers and uni
i brageous flowers. It is an article that John
I son himself could have scarcely defined in
i terms more concise—and which might, with
much benefit to certain weavers of words,
be made to occupy a description of greater
amplitude than a gubernatorial message.
At a concert the other evening in Boyls
ton Hull, it was our fate to be embowered
beneath half a dozen oi these immense
quoiffures—and there we sat, like a squir
rel in the woods, listening to the meiliflu
! ous vvarblings of Miss Gillingham, and the
; nightingale notes of Mrs. knight—w ith no
i more power of beholding the sweet min
! strels, than though we had been ensconced
, behind the forest of Bundy. Perhaps the
i fair wearers were not so very censurable in
j this instance—they were probably obliged
j by necessity to retain thoseenormous liedge
i rows upon their charming noddies; there
j being no space for them in any other clirec
1 turn. But. be that as it may, from that ve
rv moment we resolved to declare u,
against the fashion itself, and to issue th
manifesto on the first opportunity. \\
hope to enlist upon our side. t!ie whole i
our own sex', with the exception of those ei
“aged in the importation, retailinent an
putting together of pink lustrings, ostrit
plumes, and yellow trimmings. Especial!
shall we stir up all the young bachelors i
opposition to this overwhelming fashiot
who will doubtless* jump at (he chance t
set thtir faces against it.
Reason for the Modern Fashion.—A
elderlv lady expressing her surprise at t!
present fashion, observed, that there w;
now no display of dress, as the custom <
the present day only intended to show tl
shape, not to set otV the attire, and wonde
ed that the ladies should ever have relit
(pushed their former habiliments of whah
bone hoops and still’ brocade, for mtisli
dresses like tinder. A gentleman mnarl
ed, this was probably done to catch t<
sparks.
Extract—lJ.-lieve mr, the world is a migh
pleasant creature, only do not, as I said, expo
too much from it. In the hour of peace,
prosperity and relaxation, seek the world;
moderation, taste of it as you would of a stroi
cordial • hut lose, not the remembrance that
turns bitter on the lees; drink it not to excess,
it will lead to folly, ignominy, or death. 11 u]
nothing from the world in the hoar of sorro
Hope little even from friends; try them r.ut t
much—it is painful to find them wanting.
Trust only in that world which is not now, h
which must come to all, whether they will
not. Look at the great word written over tl
portal of death—Eternity—and seek yourcoi
fort there.
[ O M MUM CAT hi). J
Departed this life, on Sunday the lC-tli dry
December, 1827, after a short but painful illne:
j which she bore with Christian fortitude, Susan*.
i Si'onslkii, consort of Samuel 1’. Sponsler of Hal
I more, and only daughter of Marth Lupton—ag.
20 y ears, -i months, and 5 days.
Susannah,
Whilst we arc parted, oh, could St thou but kne
With what a deep devotidnesr of woe
1 weep thy absence o’er and o’er again,
Thinking of thee, still thee, til! thought grew pad
Didst thou but know how pale 1 sit at home,
My eyes still turned the wav thou art to come,
And all the long, long night, of hope and tear,
Thy voice and footstep sounding in my ear,
To hear thy angel eloquence—to see
Those virtuous eyes forever turned on me,
Like the stain'd web that whitens in the stilt,
Grows pure by he ng purely shone upon.—
, And thou wilt pray for me, 1 know thou wilt,
At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt
Come heaviest on the heart, — thou’lt l.fi tbir.e ey
Full of sw eet tears, unto the darkling skies
; And plead tor me with Heaven, till 1 can dare
' To fix im own weak, sinful glances there,—
Till the good Angels, when they see me cling
1 Forever near thee, pale and sorrowing,
Shall, forthy sake, pronounce my soul forgiven
And bid thee take thy weeping slave to II. vet,