gossip round the fire in each other's rooms to
their hearts' content. Let them avail themselves
of every conceivable and inconceivable freak of
fashion. Let them consult among themselves
about such matters, and arrange their weapons
of warfare, and may the list of slain in the
marriage column of the daily newspapers be a
long and distinguished one. We have nothing
to object, we do not even, as we have said
above, utter a single word on the subject of
crinoline. Diatribes against that fashion are
written by single men. We others know that
it is useless to protest, we bow meekly before
it, and, get out of its way as well as the bulbous
nature of that fashion will permit.

On one subject, and on one only, do we wish
to make our voices heard above the clang of the
first dressing-bell. One word of warning we
have to give. It is soon said; may it ring in
many ears and scare them into a wholesome and
a salutary fear:

BEWARE OF THE FIRE!

Young ladies, you have had a pleasant day of
it. Your cousins are staying two doors off. You
have been shopping in the morning all together,
and together you have been in the afternoon to
see the skating. Now in the darkness, full of
anticipation of a pleasant evening—a little dance,
or perhaps a great one, is coming off—you mount
the stairs, still laughing and talking, to your
rooms to dress. Heaven grant that those merry
sounds may not be changed for screams of
despair, and wailing useless cries for help.

BEWARE OF THE FIRE!

Other young ladies have gone to their rooms
as gay and light-hearted as you, and presently
the house has been raised by a dreadful cry for
help. An accident happens so quickly. You
are standing before the fire, and naturally enough
at this time of year you approach it very closely.
Presently you raise your hand to try some
experiment with your coiffure. There is a glass
over the chimney-piece, and in it you can see
the effect of the rose, or the camellia, which
you intend to wear. By this action of the arm
you suddenly sway forward the steel petticoat,
and so bring the whole mass of light material
which is above it in contact with the bars. In
a moment all is in a blaze.

The other day there was a wedding in a
certain country-house. The great event of the day
was over. The breakfast-table was deserted.
The old shoe had been thrown. There was
something more of festivity, however, contemplated
in the evening, and the young ladies went to
their rooms to prepare for it. One of them
—she was dressed in white muslin—was stooping
down to open a box, when her sleeve caught fire,
and immediately the flame covered her from head
to foot. Her screams must have sounded horribly
in the ears of the wedding-guests. They
hurried to her assistance, but before the flame
could be stifled, it had done its work, and the
house of rejoicing was a house of mourning that
night.

About the same time, another young lady was
staying in another country house, and at the
close of the evening retired, as did the other
guests, to her room. When she reached it she
placed the candle upon the toilet-table, which
was in the recess of the window, and stretched
out her hand across the table to close the
window-curtain. Her sleeve caught fire as she did
so. She plucked at the carpet, intending to
wrap herself in it, but it was nailed down, and
then she rushed to the door and called for help.
A gentleman in an adjoining room came at once
to her assistance, and found her quite covered
with flames. They were put out at last, but
mortal injury is soon done by fire, and she
died.

It would, unhappily, be only too easy to
multiply such instances as these; but to what
purpose would it be? There can exist in no reasonable
mind any doubt that the accidents by fire
in which women are the sufferers are disastrously
common, and in frequency far beyond the average
of what, when all is done, we must expect.

But all is not done that might be done to
prevent them. There are two forms of precaution
to be used against accidents to the person by
fire. The first is to fence about this dangerous
element with such barriers as shall render it
almost impossible for inflammable objects to come
in contact with it; the second is to render those
objects, which are liable to be brought within its
influence, incombustible. Neither of these
precautions should be neglected. In the first place,
when one comes to consider it, it does seem
altogether wrong that the fires which burn in
one's sitting and sleeping apartments should be
left so utterly unguarded as they are. We
fence about the machinery in our factories,
because it is dangerous, why do we not fence
about the fires on our hearths, which are dangerous
too? As you read these words turn yourself
about for a moment and look at the fire
which is blazing in the grate at your side. If
there is a lady in the room it is ten to one that
she is sitting very near to the fire, and it is ten
thousand to one that her dress bulges out
towards it, urged by the expanding nature of the
steel bands which lie concealed beneath its folds.
As you look from these folds to the fire, and
from the fire to the folds again, you are struck
by the awfully short space between them, and
you instinctively request your fair companion to
move her apparel out of harm's way, upon
which she pats her dress down once or twice,
assuring you that it is all quite safe, but in
truth there was reason for your apprehension.
That two such dangerous companions as that
combustible dress and that leaping roaring
flame, should be so near together, with no
sentinel to monnt guard between them, is a
legitimate reason for apprehension whatever may be
said to the contrary.

What has become of the old-fashioned fender?
It used to mount up almost waist high. The
lower half of it was of perforated zinc, or iron
painted green, and above this rose four or five
perpendicular brass rods with a brass bar which
they sustained placed transversely along the
tops of them. This was a fender or de-fender