of Mr. Gordon, from the pen of a reporter who was present.
It is to be regretted that these papers do not relieve the authorities
from the charge of atrocious and illegal cruelty in the slightest
degree. Neither does the evidence in any way justify the legal or
illegal murder of Mr. Gordon. While in November there was an evident
desire to boast of the number and severity of the punishments which had
been inflicted upon the unfortunate blacks, there is as evident a desire
in January to show that the number of those who perished has been
greatly exaggerated. But it is difficult to see how the actors propose
to refute statements for which they themselves furnished the materials.
One agreeable fact comes out in these papers, that the British home
authorities never committed themselves to a support of the conduct of
the Jamaican officials. On the contrary, it now appears that Mr.
Cardwell, the British Colonial Secretary, from the beginning intimated
very clearly his doubt on the propriety of the proceedings, especially
in the case of Mr. Gordon.

THE CHIMNEY-CORNER FOR 1866.

IV.

DRESS, OR WHO MAKES THE FASHIONS.

The door of my study being open, I heard in the distant parlor a sort of
flutter of silken wings, and chatter of bird-like voices, which told me
that a covey of Jennie's pretty young street birds had just alighted
there. I could not forbear a peep at the rosy faces that glanced out
under pheasants' tails, doves' wings, and nodding hummingbirds, and made
one or two errands in that direction only that I might gratify my eyes
with a look at them.

Your nice young girl, of good family and good breeding, is always a
pretty object, and, for my part, I regularly lose my heart (in a sort of
figurative way) to every fresh, charming creature that trips across my
path. All their mysterious rattle-traps and whirligigs,--their curls and
networks and crimples and rimples and crisping-pins,--their little
absurdities, if you will,--have to me a sort of charm, like the tricks
and stammerings of a curly-headed child. I should have made a very poor
censor if I had been put in Cato's place: the witches would have thrown
all my wisdom into some private chip-basket of their own, and walked off
with it in triumph. Never a girl bows to me that I do not see in her eye
a twinkle of confidence that she could, if she chose, make an old fool
of me. I surrender at discretion on first sight.

Jennie's friends are nice girls,--th