CHAPTER VII.

We must now allow six weeks to have passed by, and we shall find Eleonore at the chateau La Graviere, dressing for a fête which is to celebrate Victorine’s birth-day. Victorine is assisting Eleonore.

“Only look at this pearl necklace of mine. It is beautiful, and you must wear it this evening,” said Victorine.

Eleonore returned—“I have also a pearl necklace, which I value highly. It contains a miniature of my aunt. Here it is.”

“What a resemblance to the marchioness. If I did not know that it was impossible, I should say that your aunt and mine were one and the same person. It is strange, now I perceive you have the regular Grecian La Graviere nose. Papa will fall in love with you at once. He is always looking at my nose, and wondering there is not danger that it will not become one-sided. I believe if I were to fall from a carriage the first question he would ask, would be, ‘Have you hit your nose?’”

“Your father will soon be here, will he not?” asked Eleonore.

“Yes, if the Duke of Orleans do not detain him. There will be eight gentlemen beside from the court. But I hear carriages. The neighboring guests have began to assemble, and I must help mamma to receive them—come!”

The ball-room was brilliantly lighted, and Eleonore’s beauty was the theme of every tongue. Her dress was white satin, covered with white lace and looped with white roses. The only ornament she wore was the miniature necklace, clasped tightly around her throat.

The countess was delighted with the appearance of her young guest, and introduced her to all her particular friends. In about half an hour there was a rush in the hall; the folding-doors of the ante-chamber were thrown wide open, and the prince royal entered, leaning on the arm of Monsieur La Graviere, and followed by his suite.

Monsieur La Graviere, after saluting his wife and presenting her to the prince, turned away to pay his compliments to some of the ladies present, when his eye was suddenly caught by Eleonore’s face, as she stood within a few feet of him. “Good God! my sister!” he exclaimed, impetuously.

“She does indeed resemble Aunt Eugenie! We all observed it,” said Victorine.

“Introduce me, my child. What is her name?”

“Eleonore Carron.”

“Carron—it was not his name. It is impossible.”

The introduction was made, and the master of the castle was inquiring if she was a native of Paris, when he stopped short—started, and then said:

“Forgive me, mademoiselle; but is not that a miniature of my sister Eugenie in your necklace?”

Eleonore trembled, but she stood erect, and answered firmly. “It is a miniature of my aunt.”

“And what was her name?”

“You will excuse my not answering any further questions.”

“I hope you will forgive my rudeness, when you see its likeness to my sister,” continued the count. “Here she comes!”

Eleonore turned pale, for she felt that the hour was at hand that would reveal her name and kindred. Her self-command increased in proportion. Pride forbade any manifestation of emotion before those who spurned the mother who gave her birth; yet when she saw a face streaming with tears before her, that she knew belonged to her mother’s only and dear sister; when she received a warm embrace, and heard in a soft voice, these words—“I know it is Eleonore Eboli, my beloved niece!” The poor child sighed “Yes!” and then fainted.

She was quickly carried out, and though soon restored to consciousness, did not venture again into the saloon. She was in the arms of an aunt, a cousin sat beside her; they both gave thanks to God that she had been brought to them; they wept when she told them of her mother’s death. And the poor marchioness said—

“I will be your mother in future, dear child! you shall no longer be an orphan. I am rich, and all that can be done to contribute to your happiness will be freely bestowed.”

Here Eleonore summoned courage, and with down-cast eyes and faltering words, told her aunt that her destiny was decided, she should become the wife of a young architect of Paris. He was poor in purse, but rich in affection, and she begged her aunt to say nothing against their marriage, till at least, she had seen the youth.

“She is like her mother in heart as well as in form,” sighed the marchioness. “But come, Eleonore, I think we must go to bed; we have had happiness enough for one night, and you, Victorine, must return to the ball; his royal highness will miss those bright eyes!”

With many a kind embrace they then separated for the night.

* * * * *

About an hour before breakfast, Victorine and Eleonore were taking their morning promenade on a terrace that overlooked the Seine, and Eleonore was unburthening her heart to her cousin, when Victorine exclaimed—

“Here comes the prince!”

“Good God! he is arm in arm with Victor Lazun!”

“Yes, that is _my_ cousin, but not _yours_.”

“Your cousin!!! with the prince too. Ah! what will happen next; I hardly know now what I am saying, my senses are bewildered, one strange scene succeeds another till I almost doubt my own identity!”

“I salute you, ladies,” said the prince. “My lord duke and I have been rifling your flower-beds. May I present you this bouquet?”

“My flowers will feel grateful for your highness’ attentions,” said Victorine.

“Forgive me, Eleonore,” said young Lazun, “you will not love me the less now that I am a duke and peer of France. I am still Victor Lazun, as you are Eleonore Eboli.”

* * * * *

I had recently arrived in Paris. A ball was given at the Tuilleries, and many Americans were there. We stood in rows through which the royal family passed, followed by several maids of honor and ladies of the bed-chamber.

I caught my breath as one passed near me. “Who is that?” said I to a friend, who was well acquainted at court.

“It is the Duchess of Lazun, the intimate friend of the Princess Marie of Orleans. She is a great favorite with all the royal family, and her husband also. But here she comes again.”

Our eyes met, we recognized each other—my readers may guess the rest.

* * * * *

HISTORY OF THE COSTUME OF MEN,

DURING THE EIGHTEENTH AND THE BEGINNING OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

BY FAYETTE ROBINSON.

(_Continued from page 72._)

The costume of the Catholic church at the altar has always been prominent and unchangeable, and even the secular garb of its priests has undergone fewer mutations than that of any other class of the community. All, however, will be struck with the marked difference between the following portrait of a young abbé and the churchmen of to-day.

We have to do, generally, in this and the following articles merely with the fashionable dress of the day, and therefore might omit all that related to what the noblesse were pleased to call the _bas peuple_; we will, however, give a portrait of a famous French Intendant of that day, filling an office the English call a steward. Except that the coat is plainer, that there is no sword, and that the _coiffure_ is less labored, it is almost identical with the first engraving given.

An examination of the above will show that one great difference between the costumes of that day and our own was the use of powder; a stupid fashion which nothing but the confusion of the French revolution could do away with, yet which was adhered to with the most wonderful tenacity. Another whim was the habit of wearing the sword, which may be said yet more positively to separate the eighteenth from the nineteenth century. This habit, which had its use in the days of the _Ligne_ and the _Fronde_, lasted till the commencement of the present century. Etiquette absolutely required that all who presented themselves within the sacred precincts of Versailles should be thus decked, and it became ultimately a passport, so that the shopkeeper, dancing-master and _coiffeur_ had only thus to deck themselves, and they might jostle in the stairway of the palace gentlemen as noble as the king. This, however, all disappeared amid the revolution, when the pike and musket usurped the place of the gilded rapier.

The materials of the fashionable coat of that day were Brussels’ camlet, velvet or silk. At this time we can form little idea of the variety of colors worn; black, green, blue, rose, yellow and violet all were seen. The waistcoat was not a _gilet_, but reached the hip, extending below which were breeches, which being worn like a sailor’s, without suspenders, had from time to time to be hitched up by the hands. In the cold winter of 1739 the English gaiters and over-coat were worn for the first time, and to this new fashion an old French nobleman attributed the decay of the monarchy.

The fashions of the present time date from the days of Louis XVI. and when we come to treat of his reign, we shall see the passing away and development of the old and new modes. Nor do they disappear alone, for classes go with them. Having been rejected as a livery unworthy of men, the beings who had glittered in them disappeared like shadows, either because they had really been annihilated, or had been regenerated under the new order of things. Among the classes which thus disappeared was the _Morgues_, the gilded type of French folly, not the creature, but the butt of the wit of Moliere; a compound of pride, insipidity and wit, of politeness and impudence, of gallantry and impertinence, of affectation and good manners. Not even comedy preserves them. Dandies are eternal—for such were the _Muscadins_, the _Mervelleux_ and the _Incroyables_, but the _Morgues_ are gone. With the Morgues disappeared their younger brothers, the abbés and _mousquetaires_, and with their estates the _intendants_.

[_To be continued._

* * * * *

WILD-BIRDS OF AMERICA.

BY PROFESSOR FROST.

Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine

* * * * *

THE BELLS OF OSTEND.

WRITTEN ON A BEAUTIFUL MORNING AFTER A STORM,

BY W. L. BOWLES,

THE MUSIC COMPOSED AND RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO

SAMUEL MOFFAT JR. ESQ. OF ALBANY,

BY J. HILTON JONES.

No, I never, till life and its shadows shall end, Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend! The day set in darkness, the wind it blew loud, And rung as it pass’d thro’ each

murmuring shroud.

My forehead was wet with the foam of the spray, My heart sighed in secret for those far away; When slowly the morning advanc’d from the east, The toils and the noise of the tempest had ceased: The peal from a land I ne’er saw seemed to say, Let the stranger forget all his sorrow to-day.

SECOND VERSE.

Yet the short-lived emotion was mingled with pain— I thought of those eyes I should ne’er see again; I thought of the kiss, the last kiss which I gave, And a tear of regret fell unseen on the wave; I thought of the schemes fond affection had planned, Of the trees, of the towers of my own native land; But still the sweet sounds, as they swelled on the air Seemed tidings of pleasure, though mournful to bear; And I never, till life and its shadows shall end, Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend.

* * * * *

Transcriber’s Notes:

For illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to condition of the originals available for preparation of the ebook. In the story The Wager of Battle, the Chapter VI heading is missing due to being absent from the original publication. Hyphenation and archaic spellings have been retained. Punctuation has been corrected without note. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as noted below.

page 90, leaves are sear, ==> leaves are sere, page 93, to make their ==> to make to their page 104, whispered a page ==> whispered to a page page 106, cylinders and guaging ==> cylinders and gauging page 107, for the _denouément_ ==> for the _dénouement_ page 107, I glad ==> I am glad page 110, from all wordly ==> from all worldly page 111, none was _politec_ ==> none was _politic_ page 111, of their Lupercalla ==> of their Lupercalia page 113, the wordly advantages ==> the worldly advantages page 113, Mendelsshon’s music ==> Mendelssohn’s music page 114, Druid chorusses ==> Druid choruses page 119, Greydon, then she ==> Greydon, than she page 121, tonge of flame ==> tongue of flame page 125, from a _regime forcé_ ==> from a _régime forcé_ page 127, merchans of celebrity ==> merchants of celebrity page 128, ask him them ==> ask him then page 132, sod have been ==> sod had been page 132, sear turf of ==> sere turf of page 145, havn’t told us ==> haven’t told us page 146, physican arrived ==> physician arrived page 150, maiden-thought be- becomes ==> maiden-thought becomes page 151, style and rythm ==> style and rhythm page 152, invaluabte companion ==> invaluable companion page 153, with the orginal ==> with the original page 154, down and mak ==> down and make page 155, was her’s ==> was hers page 155, an open sessame ==> an open sesame