absent-minded way, attempted to see to them myself. Philosophically weighing the distaste she had avowed for my writings, which the greatest of critics had expressed an admiration for, I resolved to coolly sift the matter to the very bottom. It was a subject worthy of the philosopher, and it would doubtless reward the littérateur who devoted his whole life and talents to the writing of what others besides himself were to read. Deliberately knocking the ashes from my prime Havana with my little finger, I rather jocosely inquired, "Your reasons, Calico ?" And here I paused to reflect. Why did I call my niece by the sobriquet "Calico?" There sat the little vixen in her sewing-chair, stitching away as industriously as if engaged upon a wedding garment, her cherry mouth pursed up as was her wont when forming a deliberate opinion-and a thunder-clap I feared it might prove on delivery. Her dark hair neatly combed, her graceful form robed in black silk-her usual evening-dress at home-she presented, if not a very pretty, at least to me a very pleasing homepicture. Regular features, brilliant complexion, eyes that could flash fire, though they seldom did -a tout ensemble at once genteel and engaging. Why did I call her "Calico?" An eminent writer once advanced the opinion -which has now almost become an adage-that unamiable people are seldom, if ever, nicknamed; that is, they are seldom dowered with those hundred-and-one sobriquets and epithets which involuntarily rise upon the tongue at the recognition of certain genial or piquant traits in the character of another. Now, my niece was christened at the sacred font by the name of Annie. To me she was ever "gentle Annie;" but I never thought of calling her so, or, indeed, of calling her by her name at all, and gradually the very sound, sweet as it is, had become almost forgotten in my house. "Puss," "Sis," and a host of others were far more familiar "household words." Why was this? And her last name -"Calico"-how came it about? I will tell you: from my establishment if the obnoxious cognomen was not forthwith abandoned. Thereupon we had recourse to compromise, and both parties amicably agreed that it should be "Calico," and Calico it has been ever since. To me there is something pretty in the name. It awakens my slumbering ideal of woman; and who has such an exalted ideal of woman as a bachelor of forty years? Did not our grandmothers and mothers wear calico, and our sweethearts of twenty years ago? Did not the schoolgirls wear calico-the pretty, hoydenish, redcheeked misses, whom you flirted with when you wore "roundabouts?" Can you separate your ideal of woman in her domestic sphere from calico? I can not. I never stopped to consider the subject before, but I believe there is philosophy in nicknames; and certainly there is something about a neatly-fitting calico dress in the morning that fits very snugly to a bachelor's heart. And now Calico, having finished pursing up her lips, commences her formidable disquisition. I knew it was coming, though it is some twenty minutes since she uttered the first fault-finding sentence. Listen: "Oh, I am no great judge, but they do not suit me—that is, unless I am mentally dressed up, and prepared to read what the old governess would say 'was obviously intended to improve the mind and exalt it to the highest pitch of ideality;' and things bearing such a portentous title or preface frighten me. They are like Tiffany's grand jewelry-shop-we are dazzled by the immense display of glittering gems, but we do not in the least enjoy them. I prefer catching up something that I can read without any mental effort, something that will at once interest and amuse me, and if it combines instruction with entertainment, all the better. I like what appeals to all mankind—or, more personal still, all womankind-something that I can read in my calico dress!" "And so you do not like my writings, Calico?" "Oh, I read them, out of compliment to you; but I would not read them if any one else wrote them." "Thank you! You have the merit at least of being frank in the expression of your opinion." "Oh, do not be angry. They are very fine, no doubt, but they fail to touch my heart or interest my feelings. You elevate, or try to elevate me to your sphere, for which I have no sympathy; but you never condescend to enter mine, which is wider than yours, and embraces the mass of people. You never wrote any thing Home from the country, the first thing she did was to invest in a couple of calico dresses, price eight cents per yard; and very pretty things they were too. Tidily fitted, and by her own hand, they seemed to me the very things. I remember that one of these said calicoes had a reddish figure, and was corded and buttoned with red, while the other, inclining to blue, was trimmed in keeping. Very artistic they were, very pretty, and very neat. I fancied coffee tasted better for being poured in such tidy costume. The peculiar style of the "eight-pennies" | for me but a little sketch, which I dare say you was decidedly novel, lovable, and home-looking, though not in the least "homely," in the usual acceptation of the term; and liking "Puss" better in that fabric than in any other, I came at length to call her by the sobriquet of "Eightpenny," to which she objected, on the ground of its sounding altogether too cheap for a lady of her dignity; she even threatened to "secede" VOL. XXIV.-No. 143.-R R have long ago forgotten, called the 'Poesy of Home,' and some 'Lines' on my 'Needle-work ;'" and Calico pouted her lip like a spoiled child that has been deprived of its merited sugarplums. "Ah, indeed! I had quite forgotten them. Have you those wonderful productions to which you so flatteringly allude?" You see a quiet old bachelor like myself takes considerable notice of what is going on, though he seldom makes any observations, except on paper. “Yes, uncle, they are safe in my Scrap-Book: 'gaged at her toilet. and you needn't make fun of them either; for to my mind they are far superior to all the learned things you have written since. If I was an author, I would make myself loved as well as feared." "Feared! who fears me ?" "Oh, a great many people-almost every one I know. You do not associate with others; you keep aloof from people; and that makes you unpopular. Nobody likes to be avoided by those whom they consider their superiors; and people talk of you as if you were a distant, glittering mental iceberg-not a human being, with sympathies which might and ought to endear you to your kind. But you are not half so cross and cold as you appear, though. Nobody knows any thing of your real kindness of heart but I and-" "Who, pray?" "Chatterbox." The folding-doors between the parlors were drawn, but not quite closed. Now, while I was lying there on the lounge in the back parlor, the door-bell rung; and when I heard a soft, silvery voice inquiring for my niece I was immediately somewhat interested. I distinguished next a light footfall, and the rustling of a lady's silken dress as she entered the front-parlor; and, old bachelor that I am! I confess to Eve's curiosity, to listening with all my might to what came next. In all, I had three items, upon which speculation, in spite of the headache, begun to build a romance. 1. The Gentle Voice. 3. The Rustling Silk Dress. the click of the high heels upon the oil-cloth reminding me of the beating of castanets; the door opened; there was a rush as of two comets, with ample tails, through the regions of space-a collision, as of said celestial bodies encountering each other, and "Joe Nelson! how glad I am to see you!" "Oh, Annie! how do you do?-wanted to see you so bad!-couldn't wait till you had called on me-just heard you were home from the country—never got but one letter from you!" But the rustling of the robe still continued, as This was a cold blanket. A man of my tal- if the fair demoiselle was comfortably and graceents-one "far above the mass"-to be truly fully "settling herself" and her flounces there appreciated only by a couple of giddy girls, who, upon the sofa; and then I knew that she was I dare say, knew not the difference between æs- both young and pretty. Next came the patterthetics and philosophy! I was obliged to lighting of my niece's gaiters descending the stairs, a fresh cigar in order to keep myself in a tolerable degree of good-humor. Meanwhile, my industrious but very material niece was stitching away on that eternal fancy-work, inweaving her ideality with that interminable "Boar's Head Cotton!" We each have our fancy-work: we are none of us such vile materialists as we would fain make each other believe-not even my niece, Calico. Would that that embroidered web might speak! I begun to fairly grow jealous of it. How selfish of her to inweave all her thoughts in that bit of linen! How that pierced and perforated fabric might reveal a maiden's hopes and dreams, her reveries and air-castles! I am not sure but my niece Calico is quite as ideal as myself, only her thoughts run in other channels, and express or conceal themselves in needle-work, while mine come out strongly and bold in the blackest of ink. But one can be read as well as the other, provided the magic key to the languages is only found; oh, where is the Champollion to explain to me those hieroglyphics of Calico's needle-work! The priceless yellow fabrics in the Egyptian Museum would be eclipsed by the poesy of this embroidered web of to-day; yet Calico and the embroidery both are silent, inscrutable, enigmatical, woman-like! But of Chatterbox: Then followed the usual skirmishing of kisses, embraces, and the mischief knows what. "Come home with such a cold!" muttered my niece, with a stifled voice, and a peculiar nasal twang that was an incontrovertible proof of the truth of her assertion. "A cold! mercy: you ought to be home at my house. How I would like to doctor you up! In half an hour I would have you entirely cured. Papa calls me the 'Family Nurse ;' now isn't that dignified? I keep an assortment of drugs and herbs constantly on hand: mostly the latter, for I hold to simple remedies, except in seated diseases, and then we always send for the doctor. Now, Annie, put on your things, and come right home with me and stay all night. Your uncle I will not miss you. You must be taken care of, dear; for only think, what if you should go off of a 'decline' what would brother Arthur do? Oh, if there is any thing I do delight in, it is playing the nurse!" I must needs go back some three or four months. Tired and half sick I had returned home, and despondingly thrown myself on the lounge in the back parlor. I have no doubt that "No, Joe, I can not possibly leave. I am my niece would have been ready to bathe my but just returned from the country, as you know; aching brow with Cologne, and would have ex- and there was every thing to see to, for uncle pressed a due amount of sympathy in my be- has been playing 'bachelor's hall' in earnest. half; but to my certain knowledge she had been Bits of paper and ends of cigars were strewn busy all day. I knew it by the nicely-dusted about the parlor carpets from one end of the furniture and the tidy air of things in general-house to the other, and the carpets did not look and she probably now was in her own room en- as if Biddy had swept them once during my ab But how jealous I begun to grow of "those beaux," and how I wished they might all get shot, although I have ever been a stanch Unionist! I had never yet seen Miss Josephine Nel sence! Then, in the china closet I could not find an uncracked glass, and there were not enough dishes left to set the table! The first thing I did after resting from the fatigue of my journey was to purchase a couple of calico dress-son, the friend of my niece, save the glimpse I es, and after making them, to enter the housekeeping department myself, and try to get things regulated. Uncle was so pleased with my tidy calicoes that he has called me Calico' ever since." "Calico!' What a funny name!" "Isn't it? But he's so funny: I warrant if he knew you, Joe Nelson, he would give you as queer a one. But take off your things and stay to dinner. You will have plenty of time to get home before dark. I had just been seeing to the dessert as I went up to dress." "Oh, if you have been making any thing good I shall require no urging. I'm inclined to enjoy all the good things of this world that come within reach." And then commenced another rustling of drapery, an untying of bonnet-strings, and a general shaking out of rumpled flounces. By noiselessly changing my position I could catch a vague glimpse of what was going on, and my acute ear (I am not yet beginning to grow deaf) detected the remainder. You must pardon an old bachelor for hearing and seeing all he could; for, being half sick and very cross, it was certainly better to study those young girls' mancuvres than to brood misanthropically over my personal ills until dinner-time; and every gentleman of my acquaintance is more or less cross just before dinner. caught of her through the interstices between the folding-doors, although she had been a frequent visitor at my house. Perhaps I had returned from my office that day somewhat earlier than usual on account of my slight indisposition, and having entered with my latch-key my niece was not aware of my presence. "Lost all your beaux, Joe? That's bad." "Indeed it is! Every one has gone-forsaken me for Columbia, my great rival. How I begin to hate her with her eternal Red, White, and Blue!' But mamma doesn't pity me a bit. She says that now I find some time to practice. and a little more time to attend to some useful things besides. But I assure you that it's dreadful to be left without a single beau! I've cried myself pale as a ghost." "Well, if ghosts have such a beautiful bloom on their cheeks, I shall never be much afraid of them," laughed Calico. "That's because the room is so warm; why don't you throw open the doors and have some air?" "Never thought of that, but—” Calico had advanced and pushed the doors apart before she caught sight of my uplifted finger, or heard my whispered "Hush!" But her ample crinoline concealed me, and she immediately stopped. "Let those doors remain as they were," I "Now, Joe, you are all fixed. What a pretty whispered, "and tell this Chatterbox you are dress!" "Pretty do you call it? Why, it is nothing but a last season's made over! You know it is hard times just now, and we must be economical." Did my ears deceive me? A lady prating of economy, and a young lady too? I thought only the paterfamilias, or the matron of forty years' experience on "ways and means," were ever known to do that. "But what have you been doing all the season, Joe? Why haven't you been in the country, too?" 6 "Me? oh, I couldn't be spared. You see all our beaux belong to the army, and sister and I have been so busy making Havelocks' and 'shirts,' and, oh, the amount of cake!' None of your flimsy baker's stuff, but good, substantial cake that would keep till the glorious Fourth if it wasn't eaten up-though I suppose it has been long ago-poor hungry fellows! And then the amount of 'sandwiches.' I wish you could seen us pack their 'haversacks;' wasn't it fun? But after that we had to bid them 'good-by,' and that was no fun, I assure you. Oh, Annie, I've cried myself most to death since they went away. Pity me, my dear girl, for my beaux have all gone off and left me!" whimpered the little witch, in a sentimental tone which it was quite impossible to discover was "put on" for effect or genuine. afraid you will catch more cold." "Chatterbox,' indeed! She'd box your ears, uncle, if she heard you call her so." "She'd do no such thing, Miss Calico. And do you do as I bid you. I will study this unique bit of feminity." "But listeners never hear any thing good of themselves." "No matter; replace the doors as they were." So my niece returned to the front parlor with a quizzi-comical smile upon her lip, which I instinctively knew boded mischief, leaving the doors somewhat further apart than they were before. "How long you have been opening those doors! So long, that you have quite forgot to leave them open." "Oh no; but the breeze is strong, and I might catch more cold." "True; how thoughtless of me! But where is your uncle? Will he be home to dinner?” "Yes; he usually comes in about this time." "How do I look, Annie? Is my hair well arranged? Is my head-dress becoming? I never thought of staying to dinner when I came. Remember, I have never seen him yet, and I want to look quite charming. I intend to fascinate him; you promised him to me for a beau." "Did I ?" "Did you? Indeed you did; and now that I am in sore need of a 'walking-stick,' I make two young girls-and one of them my demure bold to claim him." "Why, Joe Nelson!" "Fact." "But he's a crabbed, cross old bachelor; very fastidious, very learned, and very dignified, and a little gray; forty years old next May-I know the very day, and must hurry and get those embroidered slippers done for his birthday present. Fancy your having such a beau!" "No matter. Affairs are getting desperate,' as the brokers say in Wall Street. By-and-by, if the war continues, there will not be even a 'crabbed old bachelor' left to impress into our service; so we must take up with what we can get, and be thankful. But I'm impatient to see my lion; won't it be fun to civilize him?" And the daring wretch clapped her hands and waltzed all round the room. I was boiling with rage and indignation. I was angry at my niece, and I was indignant at the audacious stranger for assuming to monopolize me for a "walkingstick" in default of all other beaux. But the worst was yet to come. "Oh! I like such magnificent people vastly, and, what is very singular, they always like me. It must be the affinity of opposition that attracts us. Would you believe it, Annie, I have read all your uncle's grand writings and don't understand a word of them!" "Why, Joe!" "Pon my word, I don't." "Then I confess there are two dunces in the world, when I thought there was only one." "Annie, what do you mean?" niece. How little do we men know of the sex behind the folding-doors! We write abstruse theories upon woman, and think we understand her, but she outwits us after all, and the puzzle of her enigmatical nature remains unsolved. I was standing before my mirror giving the last twist to my mustache when the servant knocked and announced: "Mr. Tupper, dinner waits for you." Descending the stairs, I suddenly formed a resolution. "Miss Nelson-my uncle, Mr. Tupper." "Very happy to see Miss Nelson. Annie, what do you give us for dinner to-day? Peter, uncover. Ah, roast veal-my favorite dish! I am a man of quiet tastes, Miss Nelson, and relish a plain dinner. May I help you to a bit of this stuffed breast?" "Thank you." "Some gravy, Miss Nelson ?" "I never take it." Ah, the young lady actually knew how to dine. I half forgave her impertinence behind the folding-doors. Deliberately unfolding my napkin I now took a good look at her. I had been all along waiting for the chance; knowing when, like an experienced fisherman, to take the tide to hook my fish. I reasoned thus: When she is helped, she will be busied with her knife and fork and not be looking at me; nor was I mistaken. She was too well-bred not to commence eating after being helped; and there she sat, demure as a matron of thirty years, as if no such thing as fun and frolic had ever moved "Why, that I never could understand them her. Light complexion, blue eyes-I could just myself." "What, you, Annie?" "His own niece-living under the same roof with him. He is a perfect enigma to me to this day, and so are his writings; and I do wish he would condescend to write common sense." "But he's a genius, Annie; and you know that is one step either above or below a fool." "Hush!" "Why hush?' he isn't around, is he?" "He will be soon. But I assure you, Miss Nelson, that my uncle is no fool," replied Calico, indignantly. "Don't be angry, dear, I only said it in fun. But if he can, why doesn't he write something that we care for something to do us good?" "I'm sure I can not tell; it is a thought that has often puzzled me." "I'll tell you what let us do." Here the dinner-bell sounded. discern their local color, for like violets in shadow they were coyly hiding beneath the drooping lids; wavy, golden hair, clinging in ripples to her fair forehead; features decidedly mobile; that is, one moment they might assume one character-as for instance that of a very imp of mischief—and the moment after they might have sat for a Saint Cecilia; a graceful neck, and a bust promising the most luxuriant type of womanhood. Just such a specimen of girlhood was she as one was accustomed to find in opulent country residences twenty or thirty years ago; a type of tangible womanhood, such as woman was ere her physique had dwindled down to a mere wire frame upon which to pad cotton and suspend crinoline. A very Hebe, dowered with the matchless graces of modern refinement. And the young lady actually knew how to eat with grace! How had I happened to stumble upon such a treasure? Dinner over, dessert was placed before us, and Peter removing the cover displayed my favorite apple-dumplings! Stare not, conventional reader! I have before said that I was a man of simple tastes; and these dumplings, with their special sauce, were made after the peculiar recipe handed down in our family for many generations: said recipe being now preserved in my niece's ScrapBook, along with my wonderful lines on her Needle-work and valuable recipes for making tarts, pickles, and pies. I dare say my mother, my grandmother, and, for aught I know to the contrary, my great grandmother, had each made dumplings after that recipe in their calico dresses! And did I love their revered shades the less for it? Not a bit; they were the more endeared to me from the probability of the case. "Ah, Calico, these are delicious! I have had no such dessert as this since you have been gone; nothing but bakers' tarts, and the usual run of their greasy, insipid trash, which is enough to give one the dyspepsia." "I am glad you like them." Dinner passed off very agreeably. Miss Nelson was both dignified and graceful; who would have ever suspected her of being the Chatterbox of the front parlor? What a strange specimen of feminity? But to return to the conversation with my niece. Suddenly remembering the idle chat of those two girls, the thought flashed like lightning upon me that Calico had already begun to "tutor" me. Again the door-bell sounded, and enter Chatterbox. and be very careful that there is no one listen- "Uncle, you are not vexed at what I said "What does he mean?" again inquired Chatterbox, very anxiously. "Joe, I can not tell; but he has already begun writing, and we had better be off.” And the two girls left the room very reluctantly and very soberly. That was their last girlhood's gossip: the on-coming shadow of womanhood was already spreading itself over their young hearts. Do they each remember it, I wonder; and are they the less happy now that they have more important things to demand their attention? But the room is deserted; the light of womanhood has left it; banished by my own decree, it is true, but none the less banished. I feel lonely. It is all my own fault that those young girls have quitted it, for they left reluctantly. And is it all my own fault that the blessed light of womanhood should not always shine upon and encircle me? I breathe a sigha profound sigh; it wells up from the heavy heart "Do, pray, Mr. Tupper; condescend to be of a man of forty years. I light my cigar and human, and remember us poor girls!" "A perfect god-send you are, Joe! Now join with me in persuading uncle to write common sense; something we can understand." And pleadingly the little imp stood before me, her hands demurely crossed upon her breast, in the very attitude, and with the exact air and pose of one of Carlo Dolce's Madonnas. You may readily believe I leisurely took time to survey her. "Write us a story," pleaded Calico. "To be put in your famous Scrap-Book, along with your recipes for making pastry, puddings, and pies, eh, Calico?" "But I'll have mine bound in turkey and gold, like Valentine's Manual for '61,' which he sent to papa, and lay it on the parlor table for all my beaux to look at when they come home from the wars, all covered with glory and scars. Why I was annoyed at this speech it would have been difficult for me to say, but I was annoyed. Rather than write a story to be bound in turkey and gold and laid on Miss Nelson's parlor table for her beaux to read, I would much prefer it ever lying perdu in Calico's Scrap-Book, among the old family recipes. "Young ladies," said I, "I will write you a story-a common-sense story-and the title shall be Calico and Chatterbox,' and when I have done it, I shall send for you. I intend to avail myself of your admirable criticism." "Good!" "Just what we wanted!" "Well, now be off with you. I never want people around whispering secrets when I write, and you girls have an immense amount of secrets to whisper. I think if they were woven into a story they would be among the most amusing things ever written. Calico, take Chatterbox up to your room and have a good gossip, commence : "A BACHELOR'S IDEAL OF WOMANHOOD. "Now, dear ladies of America, is just the time to show what stuff you are made of. You who have been lolling on the couch of apathy, dreaming of the luxury-and it is a luxury-of one day filling a niche in the vast economy of existence, which none other can so well fill, of nobly acting your part in the grand drama of life—and we all dream of that, no matter what are our stations and sex-arouse! There is a mighty work for you to accomplish. The "You who have firesides, cherish them. You who have parents, brothers, husband, or children, study to render them happy. Concentrate around home those fascinations which you have hitherto recklessly lavished on society in general. world at large will scarcely thank you for your devotion to its shrine, but the home-circle will. What are your accomplishments? Remember that they are no idle things. The Creator of all good has taken pleasure in dowering you with the capacity handicraft, and the hunger of the soul for types of to enjoy the aesthetic elements of his marvelous created excellence is a taste for art; a yearning for immortality; a line of demarkation between mere physical existence and the vitality of the soul. It may express itself in different ways: the canvas, the marble, the needle even, may determine its peculiar channel or use, but the motive power is the same through all; to create a mark which shall survive the cankering tooth of time, or to strew the graceful flowers of poesy in the dusty highways of ing an important role in the world of art and literalife. Without perhaps knowing it, woman is act ture. It is her taste that man finally consults, her dictum upon which he ultimately relies. Intuition and induction are her priceless dower; though man is usually loth to concede how much he defers to his ideal of womanhood. Like a grand castle of the |