her mother, with an oval countenance and regular features. Clementine, the younger, had dark hair and eyes, but an aquiline nose almost too salient for beauty. They were both en cheveux, and wore simple white dresses of gauze over silk, gathered with a rose at the knee.

After a set or two had been danced, an onset of the waltzers broke through the thick array of our thronged legion, and we backed and sidled with the rest until we were enabled to retreat through a side door that led out upon the great balcony. A couple of vacated chairs invited us to contemplate at ease the fine view beneath us, of the gardens, and the river, and the long lines of light stretching through the Elysian Fields to the Triumphal Arch at the Barriére du Trône. From this window Louis le Grand no doubt often exhibited himself to the admiring gaze of his enthusiastic subjects, leaning perhaps his august elbows upon the very railing where we presumptuously rested the soles of our pumps.

The waltz over, we reëntered the room, and not to be singular, contrived each to extract a partner from the triple row of beauty that graced the walls, depositing sword and chapeau to guard the vacated seat; no idle precaution-for when, after sporting the fantastic toe, I reconducted the lady, I found her place so much encroached upon, that I thought myself lucky in detecting my sword-hilt under the elbow of a plump dowager, and in rescuing my oppressed chapeau from the folds of her satin dress.

Amid the assemblage of fine women, our own country was well represented. Boston and New-York would have felt proud of their daughters. Our Minister's lady and her youngest daughter sat in the row behind the royal family. Next to her was the Countess Le Hon. the Belgian Ambassadress, a celebrated beauty, blazing with diamonds, and very much decollerée. The world gave her credit for attracting the homage of the young heir apparent, the Duke of Orleans. But he was at the moment beyond the influence of her charms, being in the gallery, leaning with folded arms upon the balustrade, and engaged in a flirtation with a young lady that looked like an English girl. He was a remarkably handsome, fair-haired young man, with a bloom upon his cheeks, and an air of modest diffidence, unlike his flaxen-headed brother, the Duc de Nemours, whose insipid features are stamped with an expression of insufferable arrogance.

The military uniforms seemed to predominate over the plainer court dresses. There were English hussars, Austrian hulans, and Russian lancers, jostling the wearers of crachats, grand cordons, and goldbedizzened diplomatists. A conspicuous figure on the floor was a sandy-haired individual, in complete highland costume, with a lady on each arm. This proved to be a great Scotch duke, with his wife and daughter. He held by the sheath a claymore, with a golden basket-hilt, given to one of his ancestors by James the First. This worthy succeeded in attracting the attention of the King, and was presently conducted by an aide toward the royal seat. As Louis Philippe politely rose and held him in conversation, the ladies of the circle had an opportunity of admiring the highlandman's bony shanks, his golden sword-hilt, which he seemed to hold up to the King's nose, his kilt and plaid, philibeg, and other interesting nationalities.

The Greek ambassador brushed past us, in his national dress. He

was a hideous fellow, with a fiery, bulbous nose, embedded in a moustache like a shoe-brush. To a poet he might suggest the morning sun upon Olympus. He was no small favorite with the ladies, though for the smiles and bows he received from them, as he went down the line, he must have been mainly indebted to his scarlet scull-cap, and gold-laced caftan, and snowy unmentionables, and embroidered leggins.

The next room was devoted to refreshments. Behind a sort of counter, extending across it, were lines of servants, who furnished from tables behind them, to those visitors that presented themselves, such simple restoratives as tea, ices, cake, groseille, and eau sucrée. Profitting a moment by this royal attention to our wants, we went on to the next saloon, occupied by card-players and betters, politicians and diplomatists. At one of the écarté tables sat Count d'Appony, the Austrian plenipotentiary, magnificently attired as a Hungarian magnate. A sort of crimson dolman, lined with ermine, hung emptysleeved from one shoulder, but tied across his chest with a golden cord; his red morocco boots, reaching to the middle of the calf, were seamed and bordered with gold, and seamed to make part of his taloon collant, which showed a pretty fair stage leg. A curved scimetar, in a golden-chased sheath, was suspended by chains in front, in the oriental style, and around his neck was a jewelled collar of some order. He seemed by his attitudinizing to be conscious of the admiration excited by his theatrical dress. Upon a bench near the same table, sat our Minister, General CAss, in conversation with Lord Granville, the British ambassador. The two men were not very unlike, except that the General's wig was brown, and the Earl's was blonde. There was no mistaking their nationality, however, for all the embroidery on the republican's simple habit de cour did not equal the gold lace upon the Englishman's breast.

pan

We strolled on into the deserted throne-room, at the farther end of which, a door leading to the private apartments of the royal family, was stationed an usher, ready to give a hint if necessary to any over-inquisitive guest. A throne has no terrors when there is no king upon it. Napoleon once defined it to be merely 'six planches de sapin et un tapis de velours.' So we insolently seated ourselves upon the steps, by way of verifying the mighty emperor's definition.

On returning among the dancers, we found that his Majesty, with half the ladies in his train, had disappeared in the direction of the supper room, and that an invading army of hungry gentlemen, with difficulty held in check by a few retainers, were besieging that important place-forte. It reminded one of the steam-boat scenes on the Hudson, when the impatient travellers, with appetites sharpened by the river breeze, congregate about the avenues to the dining cabin, in momentary expectation of the dinner bell. We joined the formidable body of invaders, necessarily locking up a position near the rear. Many of the ladies must have gone home supperless that night, for after the first descent, the tables were given up to the tender mercies of the men. But in what a style did we make our entrée! Where was that elegant courtesy, and mutual preference of each other's comfort, for which Frenchmen are so renowned? There was not even the affectation of the thing. Shade of Louis the Great! how we dug

our elbows and hilts into each other's sides! But being all pretty well padded, there were probably no ribs broken, though there must have been some coats torn. A fellow countryman, whom we recognized at a distance in the crowd, held up his tattered sleeve by way of salutation, and made some observation in English about court manners, that must have been offensive if it had been understood by his neighbors; but they only smiled.

We were borne along by the current through the corridors toward the Salle de Spectacle, in the northern wing, or Pavillon de Marsan, where the supper was given. We entered by folding doors opposite the stage, on the first tier of boxes. Upon the pit, which was floored over on a level with the stage, as well as in the first tier, which was dismantled for the purpose, were spread vast concentric tables, resplendent with candelabras, and loaded with delicacies. Behind the guests were rows of attendants in the boiled-lobster colored livery of the palace. In the upper boxes were ladies with plumed heads looking down upon the banquetters below. We passed to the left in the first tier, at a hint from an usher, and slid into the first vacant places. There was nothing peculiarly royal about the eatables, which were merely in good taste and great abundance. A claret jug of fine Bordeaux was placed at my elbow, and my champaigne glass kept constantly full by a fellow behind me. Bearing in mind the expectants to come after us, I lost no time in attacking a Mayonnaise and demolishing a pheasant; swallowed a few jellies, confitures de bar, and ices à la plombieres, the most delicious kind of ice that is made, and was glad to withdraw, while yet able, from the annoying attentions of my solemn friend in the rear, with the inexhaustible champaigne bottle.

The King of the French had gone to bed, at least he had gone home; but his renovated guests were in no such humor. Louder than ever rang through the saloons the quadrilles of Cosimo and the Huguenots, and Strauss' inspiriting waltzes. There is a limit, however, to the magic of Tolbacque's wand, and even to the saltatory powers of Parisian legs. Toward four o'clock, the refluent tide poured down the grand stair-case. The crush-room in the vestibule, screened from the fresh air by a glass partition, was now filled with muffled groups waiting for their carriages, whose successive arrival was announced by a gigantic porter, with a voice like an earthquake. There was some entertainment in observing the personages as they moved off in acknowledgment of their names. Les gens de Madame la Marquise de St. Betise!' Here a little lady with a tall moustached cavalier slipped out. 'Les gens de Monsieur le Comte de Boute-Jac!' Forth stepped a powdered antediluvian, wearing the cross of Saint Louis. Les gens de Monsieur Tonson!' roared the porter, at the top of his lungs. I observed through the scenes the opened countenance of our sable Ariel, and recognized the sonorous patronymic which I had desired him to give in for us. Several heads were turned inquiringly to see who might be the fortunate bearer of that historical name. But we were just then too busily engaged with a lady's shawl to satisfy the public curiosity, and suffered the carriage to be driven on, to give place to the Marquis of Carabas' people!'

To wait till our turn should come round again, in order to depart

with dignity and safety, were intolerable, and to venture into the court on foot were at the risk of life and limb, owing to the furious crossdriving, to say nothing of a Scotch mist that was falling at the moment. But a bachelor's neck seems to be of no consequence to any body in particular; so ascertaining the whereabout of our coupé, which had cut out of the file, we made a desperate sortie, dashed across the court, escaped pulverization by a miracle, and rolled out of the royal precincts, resolved to make up upon our morning pillow for the midnight hours of our Ball at the Tuilleries.

NIGHT.

BY JOHN LOVE LAWRIE.

UPON the highest mountain's head,
Thou liest like some dark dream,
And in the vale thy hand is spread,
O'er rock, and tree, and stream;
And solemn sounds thou utterest,
For a mystic voice is thine,

And the mournful words thou mutterest,
Loud swell, or soft decline.

How beautiful art thou, O night!
Within thy pinions' shade

A thousand stars are twinkling bright,

Upon the lonely glade;

And the dreaming wave is hush'd to rest,

And the dew is on the flower,

And the zephyrs kiss the heaving breast
Of many a perfumed bower.

How wonderful art thou, O Night!
Thou liest dark and still,

And the sorrowing planets give no light
Upon the darkened hill;

And the languid ocean throweth

Its billows to the shore,

And the mountain streamlet goeth

With a dull and solemn roar.

How terrible art thou, O Night!
The winds are on the flood,
And the fiery planets in affright,
Along their temple scud:
And the Thunder's voice is talking,
As he swoopeth o'er the tide,
And the sheeted rain is stalking
Along the mountain side!

And the ragged clouds are driven
Like smoke athwart the sky,

And far along the heaven

The lightning's glances fly:

Night cometh with its mantling shroud,

It cometh dark and lone;

With the hollow wind, and the inky cloud,

And the forest's swelling moan!

THE POLYGON PAPERS.

NUMBER ONE.

'Or making many books there is no end.'-SOLOMON.

- 'Denique

Nullum est jam dictum, quod non dictum sit prius.'- TERENCE.

'Ridentur malè qui componunt carmina.'— - HORACE.

Or the majority of deceased authors it may be said, (with due reverence,) They rest from their labors, and their works do follow them;' and of almost all the living professors of the 'black art,' the same peaceful termination to their toils may safely be predicted. Yet in spite of the inglorious fate of so many of my predecessors, and regardless of the chilling truths quoted at the head of this chapter, I have enlisted in the army of authors. It is not that I consider myself either a wit, a poet, or a philosopher. As for the first, I can laugh at a good joke; for the second, I can admire the poetry of others; and my philosophy enables me to bear misfortune without blaspheming, or even making a very frightful face. Although, in common with all who wield 'the mighty instrument of little men,' I possess my share of vanity, yet I rank among those who, in the words of GOETHE, listen to the song of another with more pleasure than to their own.

Why then do I mount the fame-bound vessel, which is already borne down by a crowd of argonauts to the very water's edge, and whose adventurous cruisers must pass through the blue Symplegades' of criticism, and gain, at best, but a meed of barren praise, with scarce a hope of winning the Golden Fleece? First, because every body writes; and, detesting an unfashionable character, I must follow the multitude to do evil.' I have been reading, studying, and observing, in my manner, for the best part of half a life, and have just discovered that I am far behind the spirit of the times; that the age of study has departed, and the period of universal authorship commenced. Reversing the laws of supply and demand, and trampling on every principle of literary economy, all men are now producers, and none are consumers, save of their own crops.

Secondly. I may be modest overmuch, and possess all the qualities of wit, poet, and philosopher, in the happiest union, and richest abundance. I never injured mother Nature, and see not why she should have been less liberal to me than to others of her children. I behold all over the world thousands of authors, whose ideas are either good, but stolen, or original, but worthless. I cannot be more shallow than some of these fellows; and if the all-patronizing and most clearsighted public read or endure them, perhaps they may read or endure me. No one knows his capabilities till the hour of trial. Full many a gem,' etc.

Thirdly. I am a predestinarian, and thinking myself fore-ordained to be an author, I should be loth to thwart the decrees of Providence. I have often, particularly when irritated, felt a preternatural sparkling dart from the eye, like a flash of ordnance from Parnassus, and have