Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. VII, December 1850, Vol. IIVarious
General
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. VII, December 1850, Vol. II
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
understand that gold and silver thread of this pure description, unlike
tinsel finery, it is not liable to tarnish.
There are few of our readers who can require telling that China crape is
made entirely of silk, and that shawls manufactured of it are generally
costly in proportion to the richness of the pattern. The foundation or
ground of the shawls is chiefly made at Nankin, and then sent to Canton
to be embroidered. The pattern is formed by two "needlemen," who work
together, the one passing the silk _down_, and the other from beneath
passing it _up_, while a third workman changes the silk for them when
necessary. Thus the apparent marvel of equal neatness on both sides is
accounted for, by the explanation of this simple method; but we have
quite failed, from examination of the work, to detect the process of
fastening on and off; with such mysterious ingenuity is this needful
operation performed. China crape shawls have been very fashionable of
late years, and almost defying vulgar imitation, are little likely to
fall into disrepute.
[From Tait's Magazine.]
A NIGHT OF TERROR IN A POLISH INN.
JOURNEY TO BRCZWEZMCISL.
I had but just quitted the university, and was a mere stripling, when I
received the appointment of judge-commissary at a little town in New
East Prussia, as the part of Poland was termed which, during the
partition of that country, had fallen to the share of Prussia.
I will not weary the reader by giving any lengthened account of my
journey; the country was but one flat throughout, the men mere boors,
the officials uncouth, the accommodation execrable. Yet the people all
seemed happy enough. Man and beast have each their allotted elements.
The fish perishes when out of water--the elegance of a boudoir would
prove fatal to a Polish Jew.
Well, to make my story short, I arrived one evening, a little before
sunset, at a place called, I believe (but should be sorry to vouch for
my accuracy), Brczwezmcisl, a pleasant little town enough. When I say
pleasant, to be sure I own that the streets were unpaved, the houses
begrimed with soot, and the natives not over refined either in manners
or person; but a man who works in a coal-mine is pleasant, after his
fashion, even as the pet _figurante_ of the day after hers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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