HARPER'S BAZAR:  November 2, 1867

"Pshaw, my dear," said my husband, "I don't mean a new wall-paper; it's a new newspaper I am thinking about. Though you shall have a new wall-paper too, if all goes well."

"A new newspaper!" I repeated, and my heart fell; for, to my mind, my husband takes more papers now than do him any good, and of course I thought he was going to subscribe for another.

"Yes; the firm are going to start a new paper; and I am to write a column for it."

"What sort of a paper is it going to be ?"

"Well, the plan is new, you know; and things, probably, are not quite settled yet. But there will be regular departments, containing matters of general interest: and of special interest too. I fancy, for it will give the very latest Paris fashions, and minute descriptions of all those new-fangled fancies that ladies like so much, with first-class engravings to show how they look. Then there will be amusing and instructive things, just such reading as one enjoys at home of an evening. It will contain a great deal for the ladies, and there's to be a corner for the children. In short, I think it will "be the kind of paper a man would gel, coming home, for his wife and children; but he would be pretty likely to read it all through himself."

"And what do they want you to write?"

"That is just what I have been trying to make out 'in my own mind.   I think what is wanted is a sort-of-a-kind of a-what-you-may-describe as a miscellaneous-general-news-column."

"Items?" said I. 

"Well, yes; some items," said Mr. Typeset.

"Deaths and marriages?" said I.

"Well, not too many of them," replied Mr. Typeset, shaking his head.

"Poetry?" I asked.

"Now and then a short piece, if it is very good."

"House-keeping recipes?"

"Yes, if I found any first-rate ones. You would have to try them over for me though; I have no opinion of most of the recipes one sees published."

"Riddles and rebuses? Would those come in?"

"Yes; I think they might."

"Gossip about folks would not be proper, I sup­pose," said I, meditatively.

"Oh yes, it would," said Mr. Typeset; "it would be capital. I suspect what is wanted is a sort of mélange of what is going on from week to week — just what happens, and what people are talking about; what they like to read to each other and to the children; now a story, now a verse; here a joke, and there a bit of good advice; one week grave, and another gay; and —"

      " Why, I do believe, Mr.Typeset," said I, "that is exactly my diary."

"Your diary!"

"My diary, Mr. Typeset; at least I call it so, though it is not such a diary as they put into memoirs. I am sure you have seen me writing in it ever so many times; and those are just the things I put into it. And evenings, when you don't come home till late, I read bits and stories out of it to Aunt Anne and the children. Why, Mr. Typeset, I will read you what I have written in it this very last week."

So I hurried up stairs, and down I came in a moment, bringing this little pet volume with me. I knew Mr. Typeset would not stay very long, so I began at once with what I wrote only last night.

Wednesday Eve.—How strange that ladies will adopt a particular fashion regardless of genuine good taste! Just as if there were not fashions enough nowadays, pretty and stylish ones too, so that every one might select what was suited to her personal peculiarities. It is very true what I read in some English paper this morning:

 "Are stripes the fashion, a tall woman wears them and makes herself look like a hop-pole, or a fluted column, or a monument. Are flounces the rage, a short stout lady insists on adopting them, and in consequence reminds all beholders of a well-hooped cask. Is it the fashion to draw back the hair "à la Eugénie" —a custom that requires a face of classical beauty to redeem from its unnatural ugliness—and lo! every fat round-faced woman at once adopts it, heedless of the ridiculous effect produced."

"You can do any thing if you will only have pa­tience: water may be carried in a sieve if you can only wait till it freezes."

Very likely; but what sort of a plan would it be to get a pail instead of waiting?

What an ingenious people! A few mouths ago a Boston house sent out a cargo of five hundred hoop skirts to Japan as a venture. The Japs put a cover on them and used them for umbrellas.

Red hair has been all the rage, and now black hair is announced! Eyes have their fashions too, sometimes a blue one being the favorite style, and then again a black. Wonder whether red eyes will ever come into favor! Apropos of eyes, the French say:

"Les yeux bleus sont amoureux,
Les yeux noirs ont de l'espoir,
Les yeux gris ont de l'esprit,
Les yeux chataigns sont malins."

The Persian says:

"A gray eye is a sly eye, 
And roguish is a brown one:
Turn full upon me thy eye—
Ah, how its movelets drown one!
A blue eye is a true one;
Mysterious is a dark one,
Which flashes like a spark-sun;
A black eye is the best one."

The following method of mending torn greenbacks and currency is recommended: Smooth out the edges carefully and moisten the edges with the finger-tip, after wetting it on the tongue. Then lay the bill on a piece of writing paper, carefully drawing the edges together, and lay another piece of writing paper over it. A few seconds rubbing with the finger over the seam will make it adhere, and a little adroitness, when it is dry, will enable you to lift the bill from the paper without tearing it. The seam will then be invisible, and be the strongest part of the bill. Resolved I would try this method the first time I got a green­back.

[Here I paused in my reading, and glanced up at Mr. T., to see if he would take the hint; but he did not "see it." So I went on.]

It seems that in Brazil it is excessive rudeness to inquire after a man's wife. Queer country that in several respects. A certain captain tells a story of a Brazilian gentleman about sixty years old, who was a passenger on his vessel. He was accompanied by two little girls, one of them thirteen years old, and the other younger. The gentleman soon retired to his cabin, being seasick, and left the children upon deck. The captain devoted himself to their amusement, took them upon his knees, and told them stories, while he enjoyed their childish prattle and pretty smiles. In the midst of this pleasant occupation the gentleman came upon deck. With a fierce expression of face he gazed upon the scene for a moment, and then inquired in a singularly harsh voice, "Captain, are you married?" "Yes, indeed, senior, and have a daughter two or three years older than your eldest little girl here. She reminds me of her very much," added the captain, as he patted the lovely child upon the cheek. "That little girl, Sir!" exclaimed the indignant passenger, with a severe emphasis on little girl, "that little girl is my wife!" The captain immediately provided a chair for the gentleman's wife and another for his sister-in-law.

When a widow is married a second time it is not customary for her to wear orange flowers, nor is the cake decorated with them. Formerly a widow was married in a dress of some light-colored silk or satin, such as silver-gray; but at the present time this custom is not universally attended to. Instead of the veil being thrown over the head, one of those elegant arrangements now worn as bonnets is frequently used, from which depends the soft flowing tulle which envelops the figure and shades the face of the bride.

Bridget, my new cook, inquired today where she could store her feather-bed?. "Feather-beds!" said I. "What feather-beds?" "Why, sure," replied she, "my feather-beds that I brought over. It's three that I've got, and my own mother made them, and I wouldn't part with them for the world." It seems, also, that her two sisters, who have just come from the "old country," have each their feather-beds; and, so far as I can learn, every Irish girl considers from one to half a dozen of these articles of furniture as indispensable. In England feather-beds are in common use, especially among the middle and lower classes. But not so in France; there mattresses of carded wool are in use. Medical authority pronounces feather-beds unwholesome, especially for children, and they are going out of use among the higher classes.

What queer little things children are! "Dot" always has a funny speech to make while I am putting her to bed. Tonight she caught sight of the vaccination mark on her arm, and shouted out to her sister, "Oh, Susie! see! here is where I was baptized!"

By-the-way, some one told me the other day of a curious trick that can be tried with flowers, and I must amuse the children with it some time. For example, a purple dahlia can be changed in a quarter of a minute so that every petal shall be tipped yellow. This is simply done by burning some brimstone, and holding the flowers a few seconds in the fumes. The change is instantaneous; and the experiment is easily tried by lighting a few lucifer matches. Must be careful, however, not to let the little folks perform with the matches by themselves, or the Insurance Companies will suffer.

People are always saying that the "true sphere" of woman is in her own home; that her duties and pleasures should be in her family. Very good. But if husbands will go to their clubs every other night, leaving their wives oftentimes lonely and without amusement, have not the ladies a right to get up an opposition ? Some of the Parisians think so, and a "Ladies' Club" has been organized in Paris. A maid will accompany every member, and remain in the vestibule, provided, however, with a casket of Russian leather, containing white and red paints, English salts, black for the eyebrows, and the door keys of her mistress. On one floor will be found all sorts of games— chess, billiards, lotos, cards. The concert-room will be ornamented with pictures, and the music will be excellent. Every thing will be charmingly arranged, yet a short season is predicted. Wonder if some such clubs in this country would not bring men to their senses?

Gentlemen may as well stop saying any thing more about discarded crinolines turning up in all odd places. They shed their cast-off paper collars in every imaginable spot. Isn't there one in the corner of every bureau drawer, and two or three strewn around on the table or chairs, after my spare room has been occupied a few days by one of the wearers? And how often is the eye offended by torn and dirty relics in the streets, on the sidewalk? And the other day I even saw a couple lodged upon the door-step of a fine "brown stone!"

Would not this be a good lesson in alliteration for Johnny to read—provided he did not laugh too much?

''Two terribly-tired travelers toiled through tangled thickets thickly thorned, toward the Talitan turnpike, telling touching tales, theoretically told, to those that thought themselves thoroughly theoretical tacticians. Therefore the throng that threw themselves thickening thitherward thought them Thespians. Thraso-like they thundered thrasonically their thriftless threnodies. Thirsty they tippled together. Their tactability told them tolerably tolerant. Their tortuosity, too, transfigured the Talitans timorously. Their tiaras that Tiffany toilfully trimmed till the topaz trembled therein took the throng. The Tokay that they took, trying the tavern table, told terribly—tinting, tinging, troubling their thoughts—till their titinnabulary tones tortured the tired townsmen; they thereupon thrashed the tipsy tironian tyros through the town." Well, that's enough for me whether it is for Johnny or not.

Here Mr. T. rose suddenly and pulled out his watch.

"Very good, my dear, very good," said he. "That Diary of yours may be turned to some account yet. But I am five minutes late, and must be on my way. So good-by. But I'll think about it."

And away he went with a nod and a smile.