work-room of these ladies presented, at the moment when, from my commodious observatory, I levelled my glass at them.

There were present eight young and handsome girls,— some carelessly reclined, as if half asleep; others standing, with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, laughing unrestrainedly, singing, and talking wildly.

As for the various stuffs with which the table was covered, no one was busy about them-no one seemed to think of them. No doubt these young ladies had just dined;— for these grown-up children it was the hour of recreation and repose, as for the little boarders, at the convent, after luncheon,

In the midst, however, of these fair girls, so wild and careless, there was one pensive and thoughtful. From the place which she occupied at the upper end of the table, near the casement, and still more, from her air of distinction and superiority, she was easily recognized as the première demoiselle.

IV.

Here, necessarily present themselves certain considerations, which are by no means to be taken as a digression, but which, on the contrary, result essentially from the subject.

In the first place, this is an axiom :

There are marchandes de modes everywhere; there are modistes only at Paris.

A true modiste, be it observed, is not a work-woman who fits corsets or makes embroideries by the day; she is one who works only at her own time,-a modiste is a poet.

A hat is not, like a handkerchief or a gown, a work of calculation and of patience. It is a work of art and imagination;-it is poetry!

It is however, important to distinguish ;-
There are different kinds of hats.

There is, in the first place, the hat made to order ;— that which is made for customers. That hat, undoubtedly, requires talent and skill. To execute it well, however, a modiste has need only of observation and cleverness. All that is required, in fact, is to adapt it suitably to the character and physiognomical habits of the person who is to wear it.

That is not the true poetic hat!

But, there is the impromptu hat,—the hat which should not and cannot fit any other than one head-a head which the artist has never seen, but of which she has, nevertheless, dreamt,

Oh, that hat! That is indeed the hat of inspiration,the lyric hat!

V.

It was one of these hats that the première demoiselle of our Magasin de Modes was in the act of meditating.

One arm, resting on the table, sustained her inclined head; her other arm fell carelessly over the back of her chair. She was in an attitude nearly resembling that of Corinna, at the cape of Mycenum.

She, too, in fact, like Corinna, was busy with an improvisation. But, assuredly, it was not intended to be a mournful one.

Quite the contrary!

A careful observer of the expressive physiognomy of the young modiste might read there all the early symptoms

of a poetical creation; and that approaching creation was certain to be of an elegant and graceful character,—for assuredly, at that moment, the thoughts of the young woman, were, themselves, smiling ones. The brightness of all her features betrayed her inward satisfaction. Oh, yes! Some fair project gave her the assurance of deep happiness for the close of that evening. The thought which was working in her, under the influence of those precious inspirations, was about to produce itself starred and colored with all their rays!

This meditation lasted several minutes.

At its close, the modiste turned suddenly towards the table, and seizing, with energy, a large piece of lilac gauze which lay before her, measured several times its alnage upon her arm, from the fore-finger and thumb to the shoulder. She examined it in all ways, turned it, folded it, puckered it several times and in several shapes, and finally, -its dimensions well considered-spreading it on her knee, she suddenly snatched a pair of scissors, and boldly cut right into the gauze,

'Twas done! She had said, "This shall be a hat!" It was a hat!

VI.

That the work might be finished before the night, it was necessary to lose no time. There was but one hour more of daylight to reckon upon.

In an instant, recalled to order by the voice of the première demoiselle, all the young girls betook themselves obediently to work, each one busying herself ardently with the share which was allotted to her.

To one was entrusted the brim, to another the form,-to this one, bows, and to that one, rolls,-to a fifth, the lining, and to a sixth, the trimmings.

It was a fine spectacle to behold these active work-women emulating one another in the dispatch of their task,-tilting with their long needles and long scissors. For it may not be useless to remark, in passing, that, distinguishing themselves, also in that matter, from the common herd of workwomen, as the cavalry are distinguished from the infantry, by their long sabres and tall lances,-the modistes use only scissors and needles of a prodigious length.

At the end of a quarter of an hour, the main works of the hat were brought to a termination.

For, into the construction of a woman's hat—frail, gentlemen, as that slight edifice may appear to you, there enter more solid elements than you imagine. The coarse lawn, the thrice stiffened tulle, the pasteboard, the edging, and wire, which form its skeleton and scaffolding,—are not these, truly, carpentry and locksmith's work!

Be that as it may, these different preparations were successively laid before the première demoiselle. It is she, the architect, she, the real artist,-she alone who is destined to unite them, and form them into a whole. She only who had conceived this hat, could give it breath-life,and realize in it her own dream!

On a pasteboard doll which she held between her knees, the skilful modiste had quickly, by the aid of pins, adjusted to one another the form and the brim of the hat. The long needle concluded the indissoluble union of these two principal parts of the structure. Then, in a few minutes, under the light fingers of the artist, the gauze enclosed and covered the vivified skeleton of the hat, and folded over it in graceful plaits. Some twists of straw were added round

the brim and round the form; and a pretty bavolet* was placed behind, above the border.

All this had been performed with great rapidity, and with incredible energy.

The young ladies, who had each finished her particular task, sat watching, with curious and attentive eyes, the interesing labour of applying their various preparations.

The modiste, wholly absorbed in her creation, smiled calmly on its progress.

She raised the hat in air, on one hand, turned it lightly round, examined it under all its aspects, inclining the crown to the right and to the left, and from time to time, with her other hand, pressing the edge of the brim in divers places, rectifying some of the folds of the gauze, and giving, thus, harmony and perfection to the ensemble of the work.

VII.

This was not, however, all. The most difficult and most important part remained yet to be done. The point was now to place the bouquet. Every one knows that this is the decisive moment, and that on the fixing of the bows, the flowers, or the feathers, depends the whole fate of a hat, however well it may have succeeded up to that point.

The deepest silence reigned in the work-room. A lively anxiety was depicted on the faces of all those young girls, gazing on the hat, which was drawing towards its accomplishment.

But our artist was not abandoned of her inspiration,Under her hand, the corn-flowers and the wild-poppies mingled with the knots of gauze, and grouped themselves in an enchanting manner, divinely inclining to the right of the form of the hat, and reposing on its brim.

The last bow fixed, the artist set gently down the frail head-dress at the edge of the table, and with folded arms, leaned back in her chair, to contemplate her work.

A satisfaction not to be described beamed on the features of the young woman; it was evident that she was saying to herself, "I am content; behold my idea expressed."

But her reverie was not of long duration. Rising and approaching the glass, she called to her one of the young girls.

Then suddenly sprang forward one of the most arch and roguish faces of a young girl ever seen at the Grande-Chaumière, or at Tivoli. The hat was placed upon her pretty head, to be definitely proved. It was the final trial. Nothing could be better. One burst of enthusiasm filled the work-room. The hat had universal success. Indeed, it became the lovely girl enchantingly. And so pleased was the giddy thing with the head-dress, that she would not part with it; but, holding it to her cheeks, with the ends of her fingers, danced with joy before the glass, in admiration of herself.

She was obliged, however, to give it up--the dear hat !— as soon as the strings were attached to it, it was taken down into the shop, where it was immediately placed in the show-glass, on the first rank, on one of the mahogany

stands.

Our beautiful modiste had been busy repairing the disorder which her labour had produced in her dress. She had carefully recurled her hair,-she now took her bonnet and shawl, and went out.

A bavolet is a species of head dress worn by countrywomen.-Tr.

I followed her with my eyes, as far as the Rue Colbert. There stood sentinel a tall and good-looking young man, wearing spurs and mustachios. She took his arm familiarly, and they departed together.

Did I not tell you that she reckoned on some happiness, for the close of that evening?

Her work completed, let us leave her, satisfied with herself, to go where she pleases, with the friend so true to his rendezvous. Assuredly, she has earned her walk and her happiness.

But, what will now be the fate of our hat ?—

VIII.

Madame de Saint-Clair was a little behind her time.Eight o'clock had struck, and she had not yet finished her toilet.

It was still daylight, the modistes had closed the window of the work-room. I opened mine, and looked out into the street.

At that moment, I observed approaching, from the direction of the Palais Royal, a couple whom I at once singled from the crowd of passers, and who soon attracted all my attention.

They were evidently man and wife, and had been so for about the period of twelve moons, including that one which, no doubt, had been of honey for them. The husband, a personage of an appearance sufficiently ungainly and slovenly, was apparently a clerk in some office. Having probably spent the whole day stooping over papers and registers, he was in a hurry to reach the Boulevard, for the purpose of getting fresh air, and breathing a little. It was, however, by no means an easy undertaking for him. His wife, a charming creature, well formed, well dressed, but certainly the most giddy and curious wife in the world, rendered that task truly arduous and painful. For, that head of her's turned incessantly to the right and left, on her pretty neck, like a weathercock. And then, if she happened to catch sight ofthe shop of a linen-draper, or Marchand de Nouveautés, it became absolutely necessary that she should approach it, and make a pause. It was, however, before the Magasins de Modes that she stopped, in preference to all others. They are, as everybody knows, infinitely numerous in the Rue Vivienne, and every one of them was a Calvary, to which the poor husband was compelled painfully to carry his cross.

Thus they came forward slowly,-he pulling with all his might, like a free and generous thill-horse,--she not suffering herself to be drawn along without a vigorous defence, and disputing the ground valiantly, foot by foot. It was a regular joust, and of the most obstinate kind.

In this manner, they had arrived under my window, opposite the Magasin de Modes which faced it.

IX.

and

I ought to declare here, that I really make no pretence to more penetration than has been bestowed upon me, but scarcely had I seen the restless and capricious face of that young woman, before, at one, and the first glance, I had discovered the secret relations and affinities which existed between it, and our hat of lilac gauze. There was in both, the same coquetry, the same lightness, the same fantasy. Assuredly, at the very first moment, I thought to myself,— "behold the foolish head which must have appeared to our modiste, when she conceived her foolish hat! And you,

Madam," I added, "you are looking for your head-gear, are you not ?-Oh! come quickly, then. It is ready, it is waiting for you."

Everything happened just as I had foreseen. In spite of the resistance of her husband, the young wife had stopped before the Magasin de Modes: and, in an instant, she had distinguished, in the show-frame, amongst all the other hats, the one destined for her, the one which had been created expressly for her.

There, then, at the very door of the shop, a contest speedily arose between the two spouses,-very different, in point of gravity and seriousness, from the little skirmishes which had preceded it. The young wife, this time, did not confine herself to looks of admiration and envy, she insisted upon entering the shop,-she was determined to try on the hat, and ask the price of it. On his part seeing the danger imminent, and judging, like a man of sense, that if the threshold of that door were once passed, the cursed hat would not only be tried on, but bought, at the expense, probably of a whole month's savings, the husband stood firm, and defended his purse, like a desperate man.

Unfortunately, two of the modistes, who happened at this moment to be in the shop, having observed the struggle, readily divined its object. Whereupon, without regard to the law of non-intervention, the malicious creatures came to the assistance of the young wife, by opening the door, the handle of which they saw her grasping and endeavouring to turn. The fight was no longer equal. Without making a scene in the street, there was no escape from entering. The husband resigned himself to his fate. As he had but too justly apprehended, in a few minutes the purchase was made, and the hat paid for, with seven beautiful five-franc pieces, all new,-which I saw glisten through the glass of the shop-door, and could count gradually, as the unfortunate husband reckoned them mournfully into the hand of one of the marchandes de modes.

I think he was a little consoled and cheered to the endurance of his destiny, by perceiving how slight would have been his chances of success, even if he had endeavoured to struggle longer against the inclination of his wife. It was evident that she had, herself, yielded to a powerful and irresistable temptation ;-for, it was not enough for her that she had bought the hat, but she must carry it away on her head. It was necessary to her that the enjoyment of it should commence on the instant. Leaving then, in the shop, the straw-hat which she had brought with her, and which, though simple and modest, was certainly by no means deserving of disdain, she departed with the new one all smiling and glorious.

In truth she had a good deal of cause for pride, for really she looked adorable in it.

Her husband himself, it was evident, however great his wrongs from her, could not resist the seduction of this magic head dress;-for, as he pursued his path up the Rue Vivienne, towards the Place de la Bourse, with his pretty wife on his arm, I saw him cast upon her frequently enough, glances of complacency and reconciliation. I would not answer for it, however, that, in the midst of the disenchantments of the sleeping-room, he did not experience, that night or the next day, a reaction against these good feelings. However, that is not our affair. We are writing the history of a hat, and not of a household.

This frail head-gear,—that we have watched forming,— thread by thread, ribbon by ribbon, flower by flower,-be

hold it then, launched into the world, on a very charming head, but endowed with very little more brains than the dolls of our modistes. I pray that, in the keeping of such a fool, no evil happen to this rare child of genius. Let us leave it, in the meantime, to seek the Boulevard, under the protection of heaven. Stormy and threatening as it has begun to look, within the last few minutes, we will not doubt that Heaven will have pity on it.

X.

It was almost dark. Being with difficulty able to continue my external observations, I quitted the window, and walked about the saloon.

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Half-past eight chimed from the pendule.

"Madame de Saint-Clair has forgotten me," thought I, or else her toilet is a little tedious to-night."

At that moment, one of the doors of the room opened, and Mademoiselle Lise entered, with a candle in her hand.

Mademoiselle Lise, that you may not be ignorant of the fact, is the intelligent and faithful femme-de-chambre of Madame de Saint-Clair. This girl, naturally very crabbed and disagreeable, had at the present moment a certain amiable and gracious air, which made me tremble. I concluded, at once, that she had come to me with some unplea

sant message.

"Madame will not go out, and has been obliged to lie down, by a violent head ache;-she begs that Monsieur will not wait for her any longer," said Mademoiselle Lise, dissembling but awkwardly a malicious smile.

As for me, who am the kindest man in the world, I took in great seriousness the sad news that Mademoiselle Lise had brought me.

"Now truly," said I, "this is a very impertinent headache, which, wholly unannounced, takes the liberty to enter a lady's room, while she is dressing! Lise, say, I beg of you, to Madame de Saint-Clair, how much I am afflicted at leaving her in the arms of this untimely visitor."

Thereupon, taking my hat, I departed, not giving the charitable creature an opportunity of long enjoying the pleasure which she might derive from studying, in my countenance, the effect produced there by her embassy.

As I strolled along, by the Rue Vivienne, in the direction of the Boulevard, I explained to myself, in various ways, this unexpected head-ache of Madame de Saint-Clair, I supposed, at first, that in the violence of a legitimate anger against her dress-maker, she had, perhaps, trodden under foot, and torn in pieces, the new gown which she was about to put on, that evening-which would be quite sufficient to cause the invasion of a very reasonable head-ache. But every one knows that Madame de Saint-Clair is a very angel of patience and mildness. It was, therefore, necessary to refer to other suppositions. I declare ingenuously. that I refused to admit any which should bring the least stigma in the world upon the just consideration which the lady enjoys, in the most reputable and the best circles of the Rue de Grammont and the Rue Sainte-Anne.

XI.

Thanks to the somewhat rich stock of philosophy which I possess, and whence I draw in the hour of need, courage against the vicissitudes of life, and consolation for its sorrows, the strange indisposition of Madame de Saint-Clair had not, at the worst, affected me either a very long time, or

beyond a reasonable measure. In fact, I was employing myself in considering the means by which I could pass, as pleasantly as possible, the remainder of the evening without her, when new events arose, which took that burthen off my hands.

Scarcely had I reached the end of the Rue Vivienne,and nine o'clock was striking on the clock of the Palais de la Bourse,-when the storm with which the sky had, all the evening, been charged, at length burst decisively forth.

As I entered upon the Place de la Bourse, I was attacked by a fearful gust of wind, which rushed into the Rue Vivienne: lifting up the dust in thick eddies, and making the lamps dance like so many swings. Then came the lightning and the abrupt thunder-bursts; and huge drops of rain began to descend.

I turned back, and endeavoured to run as far as the Galerie Vivienne. But the violence of the shower left no time for this; and I was compelled to shelter myself under the first portecochère that I found empty. As chance would have it, this happened to be the very one belonging to our Magasin de Modes; and, consequently, fronting the window of the apartment of Madame de Saint-Clair.

There, a few stragglers, surprised like me by the storm, had already come in search of an asylum; and, while the rain fell in torrents, and the kennel rose against the walls, there came many more. Poor creatures, who seemed to belong to no sex ;-strange apparitions, half drowned; who came in like swimmers, with their heads grotesquely hooded in shawls or handkerchiefs, and their gowns or pantaloons tucked up, with little enough regard to decency ;each face more piteous and chop-fallen than the other:— and of the whole of which I would here give a descriptive inventory, were it not that such an episode would retard too greatly, the march of our history.

XII.

The

The hurricane had soon, however, spent itself. greater number of our shipwrecked companions had already risked themselves on the faith of the stars, and ventured forth upon their route. I was about to depart myself, when two victims of the storm passed before me, more cruelly ill-used by it than all the others whom I had just had so much leisure to pity.

At first, I had some difficulty to recognize them ;—I could not, however be mistaken-it was SHE!-it was HE!

Yes! yes!-it was he! It was our excellent and miserable husband, drenched in every part, soaked through to the very bones!

It was she! It was our charming giddy-head, swamped as if she had fallen into the water.

As for her hat,-alas! I knew it no more. She had still upon her head some shreds of gauze, some streaming flowers, some dishevelled ribbons; but they had neither form, nor name. It was a hat no longer-it was no longer anything.

Poor drowned bird! Poor young beauty! Poor trembling linnet! Oh! what would I not have given, in that moment, to press thee to my bosom, to dry thee on my heart, to warm thee in mine arms, to wipe thine eyes and thy garments!

And then, each of us had so much need of consolation! Together, we would have spoken long, and not without tears, of the untimely fate of that hat,-dead almost in the

moment of its birth, and which only we had known and understood!

XIII.

But a disgrace, which was entirely personal, came suddenly, to divert me from this disinterested and generous pity, and to challenge its share of my regrets and my sensibility.

The young wife had entered into the shop,-no doubt to get back her straw hat; happy still, inasmuch as there was yet that refuge left, to shelter her head to her home!

A hackney coach, which splashed me from head to foot, stopped before the shop. There, whilst I was mentally offering, to those who had bestowed upon me that baptism, the benediction usual in such cases, I beheld descend gaily from the ominous carriage, and enter also into the shopwhom do you think?-The fair modiste,-who returned, I know not whence!

But, in truth, I had not leisure to reflect long on that subject, nor on the sad spectacle which she was about to witness in the shop, and the pangs which would penetrate her modiste's maternal heart, on beholding the ravages committed by the tempest upon that hat,-no doubt the loveliest of all the daughters to which her poetic fancy had ever given birth!

The driver of the hackney-coach-paid beforehand apparently, had re-mounted his box, and was about to depart, when he was called from one of the windows of the apartment of Madame de Saint-Clair, by a shrill and squeaking voice, which I, at once, recognized for that of Mademoiselle Lise.

This struck me as singular!

The coachman turned his vehicle, and drew up before the door of the house of Madame de Saint-Clair.

I crossed the street in haste, and planted myself against the wall, a few paces behind the carriage.

Can you imagine to yourself my surprise when, after waiting several minutes, the portecochère was opened, and I saw emerge from it, lighted by Mademoiselle Lise, and escorted by a very handsome Polish officer,-Madame de Saint-Clair, lovely as love, and dressed like an angel, in a low robe of rose-coloured crape, with flowers and ribbons in her hair?

Madame de Saint-Clair, supported by the hand of her gallant knight, ascended the coach, with that perfect grace which she communicates to her slightest gestures—to her simplest movements. The Polish officer followed, and placed himself by her side.

"To the Opera!" said he to the coachman, as he closed the door.

And the coach departed-splashing me all over a second time.

XIV.

There was no room for doubt.-I was sacrificed! Madame de Saint-Clair had loved me three days!—The gauze hat had lasted three hours!

I returned slowly home,-very sad and very wet, making grave and profound reflections on the instability of women's affections, and of their hats!

"Book of the Hundred and One."

HOFFNER, THE MISER OF BREMEN.

A TALE.

Hoffner, the miser of Bremen, was a fine stately man, and had not counted thirty summers; was of a kind and obliging temper a man who never wronged his fellow-was charitable, but not prodigal; simple in his diet as his home, he had acquired, by thrift, a splendid fortune-he was never seen among gallants or nocturnal revellers-hated dice and duelling, and spurned the advances of courtezans-for which the madcaps of Bremen called him unsociable and miserly. He had a ward, Emmeline, whose beauty was the theme of all the poets of Bremen ; gallants drank to her health-her very name was given to the colours she wore. Admirers she had many; but she found none that touched her youthful heart. Among the most pressing of her suitors was Ferdinand Paer, a dashing young gallant, whose name made every maiden heart in Bremen tremble. He, conscious of his own charming and graceful figure, entered the mansion of Hoffner, and plainly solicited her hand in marriage, but was as plainly refused. Chagrined, he left the place, vowing revenge on Hoffner for his refusal of his suit. Scarce had the disappointed gallant advanced a few paces from the house, than he was accosted by an old battleworn soldier.

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'Charity, for Heaven's sake, young man," entreated the soldier mournfully, as Paer walked by, regardless of his moans. "Hunger is wasting my life-thirst is maddening my brain. I served your father once, young man, a good— no, a bad service."

"What!" exclaimed Paer, in a furious tone, "you serve My father? You, a thing not fit to crawl upon God's earth -you, a beggar? Hence! nor cling thus around me, or, by St. Ursula, and her virgins to boot, I'll strike thee prostrate on the earth."

But Andrea, the soldier's name, minded not his threats. In a firm voice he said,

"Strike, young sir, I fear you not-I say I have served your father-I have made him what he is-I have waited patiently on him for my reward-day after day-week after week-months and years have passed, and I have not touched the smallest coin of his bounty. Impatient at his delay, this morning I asked-humbly asked for remuneration for my long passed services. He called me fool-laughed at my tears-spat upon me--and, to consummate his ungrateful work, drove me forth heartless into the streets, amidst the yellings of a mob, which was set on by thy father's stern command. Hither I flew for safety-I met thee, his son. You have pursued me-treated me as the earth's vile scum, and lifted up your sword to strike me--do strikethrust it in this breast-and then go forth-tell your companions of your great exploit. Oh! 'twill be a goodly thing for thee to be called the beggar's murderer."

"I'll hear no more, age hath made thee insolent." Paer was about to use violence with Andre, when Hoffner came to the soldier's rescue.

"How is this," exclaimed Hoffner, "is this the noble Ferdinand Paer, the boast of Bremen's gallants? And do I now behold him playing at thrusts with a defenceless beggar? For shame, young sir, I thought you would have known better. Come, old man, rise up."

"Hoffner," said Paer, sarcastically, "I would speak to you in private, at your mansion, in an hour hence."

I have come, good sir, to thank you—to unburthen a heavy heart. Hoffner nodded him to proceed. "I was a soldier about seventeen years ago; Henri Paer was my colonel, I deserted, was taken, tried, and condemned to death. The night previous to my intended execution, my colonel entered my cell with a cloak, which he threw over me in silence -motioned me to follow him-I did so, and after passing the sentinels, passed through, unmolested, the outer gate. Suddenly turning round, my colonel exclaimed, ‘Andre,— thou art free!' Imagine my joy on hearing this. In an ecstacy of joy, I threw myself at my preserver's feet. He bid me rise and follow him. He led me to an old-fashioned apartment in his father's house, the apartment was hung with black, with here and there a glimmering taper. In silence he lifted the lid off the crimson-coloured coffin, and pointed to the corpse, his father, with a bitter smile. He then unlocked sundry drawers. At last he drew from one his father's will-bade me read it. In it I found that the old baron had bequeathed his estate to his son, the colonel, and the rest of his immense wealth to his only daughter."

"You see how I am wronged, Andre,” said he to me;— 'My sister has an immense fortune bequeathed to her by that old ingrate there, and I, the heir, have nothing but a worthless title, and a poor estate. Now, Andre, is it not right that I should provide for myself? The world knows not yet of my father's will, (my sister has married against MY will) nor shall. How easy it is good Andre, to make another. You have been by me preserved from death; on you, then, do I confide to forge the will, leaving to me the title, estate, and fortune at my pleasure. You can easily imitate the old man's hand; and when that you have done, destroy that hateful will."

"But you did not ;" hastily interrupted Hoffner. O, no! I have it here," replied the soldier. "But to proceed. I wrote the will that he proposed, and he, by that, became the sole possessor of his father's wealth, whilst I was left penniless and wretched. Into your hands do I consign this deed." So saying, he gave it to Hoffner, who no sooner read it than he exclaimed, with tears of joy streaming in his eyes,

“Father of Heaven, here on my knees do I thank you!" Here a loud knocking was heard at the door. Hoffner bid the soldier retire into an inner room. Opening the door, Paer entered.

"I am come,” said Paer, haughtily, "to solicit again the hand of the fair Emmeline."