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my memory and heart; and that there is now nothing dishonourable or indelicate in relating it, as the time is long past when the feelings of any one could be wounded by the adventure being made public.

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On one fine evening in the month of August, seven years ago, I was depositing my watering-pot in the tool-house, when I observed a gig drive up to the inn: it contained a young lady and a gentleman. According to my usual habit of conjecture, I settled in my own mind that they were husband and wife: bride and bridegroom they could not be, as they were in deep mourning. They seated themselves by an open window till it grew dark, and I saw no more of them that night. In my early watch the next morning, I passed them twice, and changed my opinion respecting them. They were evidently brother and sister; there was a strong resemblance between them, and a slight difference in years the young man appearing to be about eighteen, his sister one or two and twenty. She was not handsome; but the expression of melancholy on her countenance, and an undefinable air of superiority about her, engaged my attention. The brother was handsome very handsome. His features were fine, but their expression was finer stil'. He had taken off his hat, and I had a full view of him. What an intellect did that forehead bespeak! what soul was in those eyes! Why," thought I, "does she look so melancholy, while leaning on the arm of such a brother?" But a glance at her dress let me into the cause of her sorrow. A father or a mother, or perhaps such another brother, has been taken from her. Whatever the cause of their common grief might be, it seemed only to knit them more closely together: for never did I see a brother and sister so attached. They were inseparable and during the many days which they spent at the inn, the interest of their conversations never seemed to flag. They were always talking; and always, apparently, with animation and sympathy. I saw them almost every hour in the day: sometimes sitting down to sketch, and occasionally to read; sometimes in a boat on the loch; sometimes in their gig, or sitting at their open window, to admire the landscape and point out its beauties to each other. I longed to know whence they came, to whom they belonged, how this strong mutual affection had been cherished, and whether its strength would be injured by the bustle and jarrings of the world, into whose scenes they could scarcely yet have entered. All these questions were soon, too soon, answered.

On the fourth day after their arrival, I was sitting at work, at a window which commands a view of the head of the loch, and of the mountains on the opposite side. It was then between four and five in the afternoon the sun was bright and the weather as fine as possible. The tide was out, and, as usual, many groups of children were busied in collecting shells and sea-weed. Among them were my two friends (for so I must call them). They seemed in gayer spirits than I had yet seen them: they picked up a basket-full of shells; they set up a mark by which to watch the receding waters; they entered into conversation with a boatman, and strolled on till they came to the little bridge which spans a rivulet at the head of the loch. I saw them lean over the parrapet, to watch the gurgling brook beneath. Then they turned, to survey the high mountains above them; and after a while, they

directed their steps to the base of one of them. I saw them gradually mount the green slope, turning every now and then to gaze at the scene below, until I could but indistinctly discern their figures, amidst the shadows which were beginning to spread over the valley and the lower parts of the mountain. I knew that the mountain which they were ascending was not often tried either by natives or by strangers, for it was boggy and pathless: though tempting to the eye by its verdure, and by a fine pile of rocks, which stood like a crown on the brow of the first grand ascent. Anxious to know how the young people would mannage to pick their way, and whether they would turn back, I took my glass, and by its means obtained once more a perfect view of them. They appeared to be looking carefully to their steps: sometimes seemingly at a loss how to proceed, sometimes slipping from one dry place to another, and sometimes, as I thought, over their shoes in mud or water. At length they reached dry ground, and the young lady threw down her parasol, and prepared to seat herself on the grass; but her brother pointing to the rocks which were just above them, she took up her parasol and proceeded. They reached the rocks, and the lady sunk down, evidently fatigued; but her companion still looked up, and did not accept the offered seat beside her. I saw him look at his watch, and then spring away among the rocks, his sister kissing her hand to him.

The richest glow of the evening sun was upon the mountain's brow; light crimson clouds were floating, as it seemed to me, just over the head of the youth, as he mounted higher and higher-springing from one point to another. I saw his slight form on the very ridge, though lessened almost to a point by the distance, yet conspicuous by its motion, and by the relief of the glowing sky behind. He disappeared. I looked for his sister; she was still sitting on her sunny seat, while all below was wrapt in a deep grey shadow. I laid down my glass, and resumed my work for a while. I looked again: she was still there, and alone-but the sun-light was gone! I thought she looked forlorn; and I wished her brother would return to her. Again the sun burst forth on the monntain-top-it had only been obscured by a cloud. I saw the lady start from her seat, and turn round. An eagle had sprung from among the rocks: she was watching its flight-it ascended into the blue sky, and was lost to sight. She sauntered a few steps on one side of her seat, then on the other, and looked around her. "I wish her brother would return to her," thought I again. She shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked up: but vainly the shadows had crept apace up the mountain side her seat was no longer sunny, but she sat down again.

The seat was vacant.

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I had by this time become, I knew not why, rather nervous my hand shook so, that I could not fix the glass. I laid it down, and went to take a turn in my garden. I came back presently to the window, and once more turned my glass in the direction of the mountain. They are coming down together, I hope," thought I It is high time they should; it is becoming dark and chilly!" But I could not trace them. At length I saw something white fluttering in the breeze. It was so small that I should not have discerned it, if my very power of sight had not been sharpened by the anxiety I began

to feel for these young people. By intently gazingby straining my sight to the uttermost, I made out that the young lady was standing on a point of rock, lower down, and more conspicuous than that on which she had been seated. She had tied her handkerchief to her parasol, and was waving it, no doubt, as a signal to her brother. My heart turned sick, and I could see no more. I looked at my watch, and found that it was nearly three hours since they had began their ascent. The next consideration was, what I ought to do. If I had been certain that the brother had lost his way, it was, no doubt, my duty to send persons from the inn, to find him. But how did I know that any peril existed, excepting in my own imagination? He might have ascended before, and be perfectly acquainted with the descent; he might be gone in search of some particular view, and have prepared his sister for the length of his absence, as she was too much fatigued to accompany him. In this case, any interference of mine would be impertinent. What should I do? I leaned out of my window, as if in the hope of seeing some object, which should help me to a decision. Such an object was just before me, in the person of an old fisherman, a next-door neighbour, and a very honest friend of mine. "Come hither, John," said I; and I stated the case to him. He thought we need not fear any danger. The mountain was not very high; he knew of no dangerous places on it; and was of opinion that there would be light enough to guide their steps half an hour longer. He advised me to leave them alone, for that time at least. I determined to do so, and sat down to my tea-table, on which I had not yet bestowed a thought. I drew it close to the window, and looked as earnestly as ever; but it was now too dark to see any thing but the indistinct outlines of the mountains, and the loch gleaming in the twilight. The half-hour passed, and I had not seen them return; they might have returned without my having seen them; but I could not bear uncertainty any longer. I sent my servant to the inn, to inquire if they had arrived, and whether they had ordered tea, or given any expectation as to the time of their return.

"Shall I bring candles before I go?" inquired my

servant.

"No!" I replied; feeling as if the light within doors would increase the darkness without.

My servant ran to the inn. I threw on my shawl and went to the garden-gate, to await her return. She brought word, that though tea had been ready for an hour past, the lady and gentleman had not returned; and that the landlady would be glad to know whether I could give her any intelligence of them.

"Let me pass!" said I, hastily opening the gate. "Your bonnet, ma'am! shall I fetch your bonnet ?" said my maid.

At that moment some one rushed passed me. It was the young lady-running, or attempting to run, but with faultering and unequal steps. I followed her. At the first of the flight of steps before the inn, she stumbled and fell. She was trembling and sobbing violently: whether from breathlessness or agony, I could not tell. I raised her, and assisted her to mount the steps. "My brother! my brother!" she exclaimed incessantly. I could get no words but these from her. No time was to be lost. I sat down beside, and took

both her hands; and speaking as calmly as I could, said, " Compose yourself, and tell us what we must do. Have you missed your brother, or has any accident befallen him before your eyes."

"He is on the mountain, there! He left me, and did not come back. He said he should not be gone twenty minutes."

"Now I know all," replied I. "I will take some people from the inn with lights, and we will find him. You must stay and compose yourself, and be patient: he has only missed his way."

She insisted upon going too; and declared that this was necessary, in order to point out the track which her brother had taken. I explained to her how I had watched their progress, and was therefore able to direct their search, But she was resolute in her determination to go; and finding her to be so, I gave up my intention of accompanying the party, believing that I should only retard their progress. A stout servant girl from the inn would be, I knew, a much better support to the young lady than I could be. Poor thing she looked in no condition for such a walk. We gave her wine; but she still trembled from head to foot, and appeared ready to sink. Her dress was covered with mud: she had fallen repeatedly, she said in descending the mountain. In a few minutes the landlord and two of his men were ready with lanterns, ropes, and poles. It was a fearful sight; and it was with sickening anxiety that we saw the party set off, knowing how long it must be before they could return, to put an end to our uncertainty.

I arranged with the landlady, that in case of any fatal accident having happened, the young lady should be brought to my house, where she would be in greater quiet and retirement than amid the bustle of an inn. No one knew more of her than her name (which I shall be excused for not disclosing), and that she intended to proceed on her journey the next morning. Where her family or friends lived, and who they were, we had yet to ascertain. I returned to my cottage, to have the spare chamber made ready for the guest whom I dreaded to receive. This done, I returned to the inn, to await the arrival of the party.

Hour after hour did we wait, listening to every sound, trembling at every breath; and so shaken and weakened by intolerable suspense, that we were ill-fitted to think and to act as occasion might require. It was a dark, cloudy, and windy night. We often looked out, but could see nothing, scarcely even the outline of the mountain. We listened, and our hearts beat thick, when there was no sound but the rising gust! I dwell on these circumstances too long, because I recoil from relating the catastrophe, as if it were but recent-as if my thoughts had not been familiarised with it for years.

It was as we feared: he was found lying at the bottom of a rock, no more than ten feet high-but lifeless. His neck had been dislocated by the fall. There were no external bruises-no signs of any strugglenothing painful in his appearance. I cannot relate

every circumstance of that dreadful night. I thought she was gone too: she was brought in, insensible, and remained so for hours. She was taken immediately to my house, and put to bed. The body of her brother was also carried there, for I knew she would not be separated from it. I sat beside her, watching her faint breathing, anxious for some sign ofreturning conscious

ness, but dreading the agony which must attend it. If she had died, I could hardly have grieved for her: but there might be parents, brothers, and sisters! Oh, that I knew, that I could bring them to her! Alone, among strangers! how was she to bear her solitary grief?-how was she to sustain the struggle which awaited her in the first hour of her awakening? I could not banish the remembrance of them as I had seen them in the afternoon: happy in each other, and thinking not of separation; then, as he was when I last saw him, full of life and activity, and apparently unboundedly happy, in the contemplation of scenes which a soul like his was fitted to enjoy. And now!

The lady's trunk was brought to me, but only the name was upon it. It was suggested that we might ascertain her abode by searching the pockets of the young man; but I would not allow an article which belonged to them to be touched for that purpose. If the insensibilty continued, it would be necessary to make the investigation; but I preferred waiting until I could obtain the requisite information from the young lady herself, even at the risk of a delay of soms hours.

Day dawned, and no change was perceiveable; but in two hours afterwards she opened her eyes. I crossed the room, to see whether she observed my motion. She did; and I therefore opened the curtain, and spoke to her. She gazed, but did not reply. Presently she seized my arm, muttering some words, of which " my mother!" was all I could understand. I took the opportunity of saying, that I was going to write to her family, and asked her how I should address them.

"My family!" said she, "I have none. They are all gone now!"

I thought her mind was wandering.. "Your father and mother," said I, "where are they?" My heart smote me as I uttered the words, but the question was necessary.

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I could not go on, yet it must be done. "But you have friends, who will come to you ?" "Yes; I have a grandfather. He lives in Hampshire. He is very old, but he will come to me, if he still lives. If not!".

"He will come," said I, "I will write to him directly."

"I will write to him myself!" exclaimed she, starting up. “He will not believe the story unless I write myself. Who would believe it?"

I assured her she should write the next day; but I positively forbade such an exertion at present. She yielded: she was indeed in no condition for writing. Her mind seemed in an unnatural state; and I was by no means sure that she had given a correct account of herself. I wrote to her grandfather, on the supposition that she had; and was quite satisfied when in the evening, she gave me, in few words, her family history. She had been relieved,though exhausted, by tears; and her mind was calm and rational. She was indeed the last of her family. Her mother had died a few weeks before, after a lingering illness; and the sole surviving brother and sister had been prevailed on

to take this tour, to recruit their strength and spirits, after their long watching and anxiety. They were always, as I discovered, bound together by the strongest affection; and now that they had been made by circumstances all in all to each other, they were thus separated! will not my readers excuse my attempting to describe such grief as her's must have been?

"It is not my intention to relate what took place the following week. The funeral conducted in a way so repugnant, from its haste, to the feelings of those who have been accustomed to a different performance of the rite; the exertions which the mourner compelled herself to make; the variations in her state of mind; my own deep interest in her trial; the sincere sympathy of our few and humble neighbours; all these things must be left untold, or I should loose all command of my pen. The mourner was indeed a mourner; though, after the few first hours of bitter grief,-calm, humble, and resigned.

Her grandfather arrived on the earliest possible day. He was old, and had some infirmities; but his health was not, as he assured us, at all injured by his hurried and painful journey. Nothing could be more tender than his kindness to his charge; though he was, perhaps, too far advanced in this life, and too near another, to feel the pressure of this kind of sorrow, as a younger or weaker mind would have done.

I could not help indulging in much painful conjecture as to the fate of this young creature, when she should lose her last remaining stay: a period which could not be far distant. But on this point I obtained some satisfaction before her departure.

A few days before she left me, a gentleman arrived at the inn, and came immediately to my cottage. She introduced him to me as "a friend." No one said what kind of a friend he was; but I could entertain no doubt that he was one who would supply the place of her brother to her.

"Her mind will not be left without a keeper," thought I, as I saw them direct their steps to the brother's grave. "Thank God, her grandfather is not her only remaining stay!"

They quitted the place together; and many a sympathising heart did they leave behind them-by many an anxious wish and prayer were they followed. The last promise required from me was, that I would see that the grave of her brother was respected. What a pang did it cost her to leave that grave!

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I heard tidings of her three times afterwards. Her letters pleased me: they testified a deep, but not a selfish or corroding grief.—a power of exertion, and a disposition to hope and be cheerful. The last letter I received from her, arrived more than five years ago. She had taken the name which I conjectured would in time be her's. She had lost her grandfather, but the time was past when his departure could occasion much grief. She was then going abroad with her husband, for an indefinite period of time. If they were spared to return to their native country, they purposed visiting my little dwelling once more, to gaze with softened emotions on scenes sadly dear to them, and to mingle their tears once more over a brother's grave. M. Perhaps that day may yet arrive.

AUTUMN FLOWERS.

Those few pale Antumn flowers!
How beautiful they are!

Than all that went before,
Than all the summer store,
How lovelier far!

And why?-They are the last

The last!-the last!-the last!

O, by that little word,
How many thoughts are stirred!
That sister of the past!

Pale flowers!-Pale perishing flowers!
Ye're types of precious things;
Types of those bitter moments,
That flit like life's enjoyments,
On rapid, rapid wings.

Last hours with parting dear ones,
(That time the fastest spends)

Last tears, in silence shed,

Last words, half-uttered,

Last looks of dying friends!

Who but would fain compress

A life into a day;

The last day spent with one,
Who e'er the morrow's sun,

Must leave us, and for aye?

O, precions, precious moments!

Pale flowers! ye're types of those-
The saddest! sweetest! dearest!
Because, like those, the nearest
Is an eternal close.

Pale flowers! Pale peri-hing flowers!
I woo your gentle breath;

I leave the summer rose
For younger, blither, brows,

Tell me of change and death!

MY SCHOOL DAYS.

The boys call me Prodigy,'-I was however the very antipodes of a Crichton in my acquirements. Whether modesty or stupidity prevented me from being a forward boy, I leave to my biographers. It is an undeniable fact, that my exercises in the play-ground far surpassed those of the school-room ;-and one day, having climbed the pear-tree, a branch gave way, I fell, but luckily come upon my head, or I should probably have been returned to my parents a finished scholar! The boys laughed; the dominie took occasion to talk of the attraction of gravity, but I was naturally too fond of sport to find any attraction in his discourse.

The same useless result followed his lectures on Electricity, for altho' my mouth and ears were always a-jar, my memory never got charged, so I concluded that the fault was in the Conductor.

In writing, the master declared I should never flourish,—and daily bored me with lessons in small-text-and in fact repeated such long sermons on the same text so frequently, that it was only the threatened box on the ear that fixed me to the task;

For I must confess I preferred his small-text to his large-hand!

In Arithmetic I was litterally a mere cypher, and despaired of ever making a figure, and the only calcu lation I ever made with any accuracy, was the exact number of days it wanted to the vacation,

In Geography I learned that the globe was divided

into four-quarters, and there I stopped; but even this progress caused another division in the world, for I and the tutor had a downright quarrel, and I left off

Never was a more true or honest bill than that presented to my parents, for the master only charged for what I literally had.

"To Four-quarters Geography,-4l. 48."

In Geometry I could never compass the rules. In vain did I try angles, I could never make an angle right, or a right angle! I was therefore decreed to be an obtuse-angle.

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If the Danes had not possessed more perseverance than the Prodigy,'-they never would have conquered the Angles! I had evidently no genius for angling, and consequently I gave it up; altho' the master declared, I only wanted the rod to make me perfect.

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In reading Latin verse,—the tutor complained of the ' quantity,'-and so did I, for I always had more than I could manage.

In Punctuation,-I made a full-stop! They next tried me in English Versification, and supplied me with the best models,-Pope, Gray, Prior, Young, Gay, &c. -but I had soul for harmony of numbers, and I could never make a rhyme.

Nor could I appreciate the beauties of others. Young was not gay enough,-Akenside fatigued me, and (although they said there was such a fine field before me,) I was not at all inclined to-Gray's.

I therefore made away with my tormentors as secretly as I could: I buried Mason in the flower-garden, hid my Prior in a bed of monks-hood, and burnt my Pope! I had a

In the French language I was quite abroad; difficulty in speaking my own; and the mark, "Heaven save the mark!”

being continually upon me, I was daily fined, on which account one of the boys choosing to jeer me with the epithet of "a fine fellow,"-I knocked him down, and was expelled. The master, however, in delivering me to my father, said, in a very complimentary manner, that "he had never turned out such a scholar since he had conducted an academy!" OMEGA.

Comic Offering 1834.

THE MOUNTAINEER'S RETURN.

BACK, back to the hills,

Where the wild-deer is bounding;

To the forests and glens,

Where the blue streams are sounding; No more of the city

No more of the plain-
Oh welcome the breath of
The mountains again!

I have sighed, I have pined
For my own mountain home,
Till hope died within me-
I come! now I come!
Oh bitter is exile

Where mourning is vain,
But it doubles the transport
Of meeting again!

I come! And oh, chide not
The absent so long,

If his spirit, uncaged,

Spread its pinions in song! It hath burst from its prisonHath broken its chainNow welcome the free wilds And mountains again!

LONDON AND PARISIAN FASHIONS
FROM A VARIETY OF THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES
INCLUDING COPIOUS EXTRACTS FROM

"Le Petit Courrier des Dames"-" Journal des Dames et des Modes, L'Observateur des Modes et L'Indiscret"-" Le Follet Courrier des Salons”"Le Mercure des Salons," &c. &c.

DRESSES.-The majority of dresses are with crossdraped corsages; many however, are en redingote, ornamented in front with fringes, tassels, dents, &c. We have seen a very handsome one composed of sapphireblue satin, trimmed in front with velvet pates of the same colour; these pates terminated in the shape of claws, and appeared to be fastened at each end by a small silk tassel. The sleeves were wide, and terminated by a velvet cuff something similar to the pates in front of the skirt; the sleeves and pockets were also ornamented with silk tassels.

Instead of forming gathers on the upper part of the sleeves, the plaits are basted on a flat piece adhering to the corsage, and rounded on the side where the plaits are intended to figure.

A very handsome mantilla much worn at present, is composed of satin, and trimmed with black or white blond, they advantageously display the shoulders and back, are crossed over the chest and allow the corsage to be seen. They are trimmed with a high blond, and in some instances with a ruche of tulle.

A handsome mantilla of the above description, was trimmed with a ruche of black tulle forming necklace ronnd the neck; this mode is advantageously employed with velvet.

Printed or embroidered satin scarfs are not exclu sively destined to evening toilets; those of striped tulle with a light embroidery in flat silk, and terminated by a larger design, more particularly belong to evening. dresses.

Satin cravats are worn with morning dresses.

Blue or rose-coloured satin-ribbons dotted with small black spots are very tasteful, all ribbons are turned round the neck without a bow, and the ends passed under the ceinture; for this purpose, wide, soft, black ribbon, bordered with cherry, orange, green or blue is much employed.

But few gauze ribbons are now employed, except on caps; those for hats are richly figured withb right designs on a dead ground.

Blonds never were so much in fashion as they are now. No lady with the least pretension to fashion can dispense with it on her hats, evening dresses, and morning negliges.

With velvet and satin dresses, mantelets of the same material are worn; they are trimmed with black lace, or festoons cut out of the mantilla itself. We have seen a robe thus disposed intended for a bridal dress; the material was a rose-coloured pou de soie, the skirt full wide with ample plaits; the sleeves wide at the shoulder, and diminishing so as to form a few plaits round the cuff. A mantelet of the same material, and trimmed with lace; this trimming formed a double row on the back and shoulders, a falling lace round the neck formed collar, the front of the mantelet was fastened in front by ribbon nœuds. The hat intended to accompany this handsome neglige, was composed of white crape ornamented with white feathers.

NO. XXXVI.---VOL. III,

A charming evening dress of chesnut-coloured satin with a sprinkling of bouquets embroidered in shaded silks, the corsage deep cut and draped; the sleeves short, with double sabots.

The hems on the skirts of dresses are not more than a hand and a half high.

It may not be improper to mention at this time of the year when ladies are about choosing their furs, that several of the best assorted furriers in town are preparing Palatines such as were formerly worn, and which it is expected will supersede the boa, now become so common. These palatines will form large pelerines behind, and descend in front as low as the hem of the dress.

ENSEMBLES DE TOILETTES.---A dress of Corinth-coloured gauze with alternate bright and dark satin stripes, over the bright stripe was an embroidery of green and orange-coloured designs. The corsage formed a point in front and had large draperies on the chest. The back flat. The sleeves short, trimmed with double sabots, divided or separated by an orange-coloured satin ribbon which formed a noud in the middle. Round the back of the corsage and extending from shoulder to shoulder, a mantilla of British lace.

A dress composed of white Pekin, with painted bouquets of daisies, roses, and small poppies. The corsage plain, laced up, and edged all round the bust with a deep fall of black lace. At the extremity of the short sleeves a black lace ruffle, caught up by a nœud of white gauze embroidered in coloured designs.

A white organdy dress, embroidered in small bouquets with coloured silks; the bouquets composed of pinks and roses, enlarging gradually towards the lower extremity of the skirt. A white gauze ceinture with long ends.

A plain white gauze, trimmed with blond round the corsage. A turban of white and green gauze intermixed. An emerald necklace. The ceinture and noud of white gauze.

A Hayti-blue, cashmere dress, trimmed round the neck with British lace; a plain hem round the lower part of the skirt; short sleeves. A white gauze turban.

The arrival of the queen of Belgium in Paris, was welcomed by a grand ball given at the Tuileries. The dresses, though elegant, presented no new feature; almost all were white.

The young queen's dress was composed of white crape, traversed in the whole length by a line en biais formed by bouquets of nymph-roses. In the hair a couronne of the same sort of roses; the sleeves ornamented with blond sabots.

The princess Clemantine wore a dress of the same description. Coiffure, the hair disposed en bandeau Ferroniére with small bouquets of roses; a small bandeau-diadem over the forehead.

Two dresses of the same description were much noticed, they were composed of white pou de soie embroidered with flat silk! a wreath of jasmine and foliage formed a mathilde on the skirt. The corsage and sleeves were lightly embroidered in a similar manner; a mantelet and subots of blond; on the head, a wreath of jasmine; one wore a suit of engraved turquoises mounted în barnished gold, the other, a suit of rubies set in chased gold.

On a white crape dress, a garland of small daisies

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