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dark as it ought; but suddenly I saw a quick illumination 1 of the cottage, and observed the blinded windows, and the set up in the young man's bed-room. Other lights then retired look of every thing, and thought within myself of began to be carried about the house, and figures to move the sacredness of affliction,—which, from the just suspihastily to and fro, as if something alarming had happened : cions of experience, shuts out the world, to brood in silence a messenger issued from the door, and ran hastily up the over its own sorrow,--my timid weakness came on again, street, and soon returned accompanied by a man in a cloak. and I had not the courage to give a stranger's knock at the I saw them all congregate into his room; I could ob gate. Silly man that I was ! to think that I was not an serve the widow go about by the bedside wringing her imitative animal like the rest of the world, and that I had hands. The whole case was now clear to me, and the ne not much strength to imitate others in the things that were cessity for sending for the medical man in the middle of the evil, but little indeed to deviate from example, towards that night, realized my most melancholy and fatal forebodings. which was good! I could not think of sleep, I could not even go to bed, for Again, when night came on, I saw the lonely widow watching from my window the distracted motions of the watching and rocking herself by her son's bedside. Anounhappy widow; as, through the long and still hours of ther night arrived, and I could not sleep for observing her, night, I could observe her sit by the couch of her beloved for still the solitary candle burnt dim behind the little son, anticipating, no doubt, nothing but death and desola curtain throughout the long watches of the night, and still tion, and rocking herself to and fro in the excess of her she sat by the weary couch ; and no one came day nor night sorrow.

to that desolate cottage, but the constant doctor with the “How much better it would have been," said I to myself, black cloak, who had a fee to receive out of the house of "to have been assisting by my services this disconsolate poverty, and wrung a penny out of the last wreck of the family, from whom the world has fled as usual, because it widow's misfortunes! “I see what will be the end of this,', is in misfortune, than wasting my time in banquetting and said I, “according to the usual procedure of the worldchambering as I have done this night, with the thought but the plumed hearse shall not come to the door to carry less sons of luxury, that now sleep at their ease along this away that young man to the grave, nor the undertaker and great terrace, and little know or care what is felt at this the landlord arrive to complete the ruin of the helpless, moment by that poor lady and her children.”

before I at least try to get speech of this lady." But penetrating thoughts concerning the world are sad I at length got courage to knock at the cottage door, and and disheartening, and I became benumbed as I sat in the from the confusion probably of the family, I found myself stillness of night, making many resolves for the morrow, at once asked to walk up stairs. I had a sensible feeling which I knew not how to execute; for I was now a great of the involuntary awe, inspired by suffering, and by virtue man, at least I lived with great people, who never know any struggling with distress, as the door of the chamber was one in poverty and misfortune, and could not be supposed softly opened to me, and I entered into the quiet sanctuary to concern themselves about the inward sufferings of this of the sick. The wan countenance of the poor lady, and reduced family. And so I crept into bed, almost ashamed her look of despairing apprehension towards her son, almost that I was a man, and I dreamt all the morning how that I filled me with terror to observe it. Never have I seen a was clothed with purple and fine linen, and yet I thought I handsome face in the early part of middle life, for she could was a bloated creature, with a head like a swine, sitting not yet be five and thirty, so altered in a few days by amidst golden cups and purple grapes, that tempted my watching and anxiety. It was even more changed than senses and gorged my appetite, and yet misery and sorrow that of the sick young man who lay stretched on the couch were on my right hand and my left: and I turned my head beside her, and who at once seemed to recognize my face, away, and would not look at it, because this was the way and replied to my enquiry with his former serious but now of other swine, with which I found myself in company. languid smile. The lady and her son regarded me for a And behold, the cry of the distressed arose in my ears, like moment in evident expectation, which I, feeling that I could a terrible trump of accusation; and I awoke in horror at

not properly answer, stood looking at both, with unanticimy own nature, and I saw that the blessed sun shone like

pated embarrassment. Misfortune is suspicious, from bitter a glory in at my window; and the pangs of the night were experience of the world : and I saw the lady's eye kindle so oppressive upon my spirit, that I contemplated with a into a meaning, as she surveyed my plain exterior, and sort of conscious guiltiness the downy pillows on which I stupified look; and she asked me with some abruptness lay, and the silken curtains and gilded mouldings above what might be my business. me, which seemed to mock me with their grandeur, for I “Madam," I began to say, but there was a nervousness knew what I was, and to reproach me in the bitter scorn over my tongue—“ Madam, I stand before you doubtless as of human pride, with the complex iniquities and far extend a stranger, but in the house of sickness which I have watched sorrows, that are inevitable upon the selfishness of

ed for some time, it appears to me friends are not plenty." huxury.

“It would be a new thing if they were, Sir," she replied, But I arose and made a prayer with my face towards the " as the world's way is--but if known friends and former sun, which shineth alike upon the high and the lowly; and associates desert the widow in her calamity, surely strangers then good words came into my mind, and I comforted my may spare her feelings, and need not come unsought to self with the strength of my resolves ; " for," said I, “the intermeddle with her grief." forms of society are but of the excuses of selfishness, and “Madam," I rejoined, a plain tale is best. The chances I will this very day go and offer my poor services to of life have domiciled me at present in that grand terrace, this friendless widow."

which, like the rich man with the poor, loftily overlooks The day advanced, however, and passed away, and like this modest cottage. From my chamber window in Sir Hamlet, the Dane, in a higher case, I had not the strength | William Brisban's house, where I sit among high people, to do what I resolved, for when at one time I went to the door like a sparrow on the house-top, I have observed your son

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labouring at his study, until sickness hath laid the poor | he raised himself upon his elbow to look at me, and to conlad low; and for him and for you I have, unknown to you verse with me in the awakened animation of his feelings. both, been deeply interested. For though I live at present What a sovereign thing is sympathy, in some of the exiunder the wings of the great, I have little part or lot in gences of life! What a wretched creature is man, that he high born haughtiness, and have not found worth or genius should still fly from his neighbour at the moment of his so plenty in the world, that I should disregard it in the calamity, lest the slightest call should be made upon his person of a struggling artist and his reduced mother. You own selfishness. Yet how small a service, how little a will excuse me, Madam, but I have watched this door since countenance, if it comes at the trying hour of need, may your son fell ill, and seen no one enter but the cormorants sometimes serve to turn the tide of mental depression, from of the sick, and the mercenary servants of bare necessity. indolent despair to active hope, mingled ever with joy.I know the helplessness of a woman without a man-friend Something of this I was enabled to do for these sufferers, in the circumstances of the widow; and if you will accept even now before I left them. of my poor services, to sit with your son in the night “Oh, if my boy had only leisure,"—said his motherwatches, and relieve you in your weary attendance; or, if “and air, and the exhiliration of hope, and the encourageyou will permit me to aid you in any attempt to thaw, on your ment of a friend, perhaps he might yet recover, and we behalf, the bleakness of the world, it will bring more might all be saved. But this continual labour, that bears pleasure and profit to my own heart, than all the banquet down the necessitous,—this unceasing study, that is the ing in that wealthy terrace.

lot of genius in obscurity-has brought him to the The surprise of the lady seemed to grow upon her as I grave's edge, and all is likely to be lost for us and for spoke, but still she made no reply. “Madam,” I continued, him." “are friends so plenty, and is the world so kind in your And so I saw that the real root of the matter was the old circumstances, that you refuse the proffer of a plain man." story after all, namely, that unrighteous Mammon, which

“Friends, Sir," she said, “I once had friends,-as I keeps man separated from his fellow, and even virtuous thought, but it is few of them will follow where misfortune purposes from finding their object, and buries worth and leads; and here I am left alone to death and desolation, genius in the grave of its own belplessness. But I learnand that in my hour of saddest trouble;”—and casting a ed enough from the reduced widow to have my own look at her sick son, the distressed widow burst out into a thoughts upon the matter, and to indulge the pleasure of flood of tears.

my own purposes. The pride of high-minded poverty, I “Excuse her, Sir-excuse my poor mother," said the thought, sometimes overshoots itself, and bad as the world youth, addressing me faintly from the bed ; " want of sleep, is, does it occasional injustice. From some hints dropped and depression, has made her nervous. Mother, do not feel by the lady, about several early acquaintances whose names thus deeply. I know I shall get better, and here is a gen she mentioned, but who from the natural shame of sinful tleman come to us who has the look of a friend. Be seated, want, they had lost sight of for several years, I took my Sir, until my mother is able to speak."

staff in my hand, and went forth on a journey to see what “I feel I am not as I was, Sir,” she said, “far from as I cauld do. strong as when this dear youth's father was alive ; besides, Far had I to go, and many enquiries I had to make, beI am ill myself with care and watching, so you will please fore I could even find out those of whom she had spoken: excuse me. You have come to me from Providence in the for easy wealth dwells high above the clouds of misfortune, moment of grief, I will therefore confide in you, for I per and builds around itself a wall of tripple brass, to exclude ceive your sincerity. My husband was killed in battle, far the painful intrusions of complaint. Never had I gone from his own; and I never had the satisfaction of closing forth with more ardent purposes, or more pleasing hopes : his eyes or hearing any particulars of his last moments. and never did I return with more bitter disappointment. My second son I buried since I became a widow, and the It is hard to bleed a flint stone, but harder to move the obpretty boy was laid in a grave without the sanctity of a duracy of luxury ; jealous to nervousness of the conservation father's tears, and I had to bear the trial, without the of its enjoyments, and never having enough to spend upon strengthening of a husband's support ;--but if this my itself. “The more you seek into the world," said I to myeldest son and last hope is taken from me—if I see him laid self, in my bitterness, “ the more you will be convinced that out a corpse in that bed, and carried in his coffin out of this man is a wretch, whom circumstances are capable of making cottage-Sir" added the widow in a despairing whisper into a detestable creature, impervious alike to feeling and “ I know not what will be the end of it-I shall go out of religion; and upon whom the blessed sun that dispenses my senses !

his beams even upon the evil and the unthankful, is not I shrank involuntarily from the look of the poor lady as worthy to shine." This had been my experience on many she uttered this, and I felt at the moment that the house occasions, and it was so now, evinced through all the usual of mourning, or even of apprehended desolation, such as subterfuges and polite excuses of the occasion ; yet one or was here before me, was no better than it was called. I two gave me a slight hope, and, suppressing as I could my nevertheless spoke to the sufferer such words of comfort own feelings, I returned with sadness to the widow's and hope as came into my mind. What I said I hardly cottage. know, for my own head was not clear; but tears of grati To my surprise I found the youth a little better, and his tude began to stream down the lady's cheeks as we became mother and he received me as if I had been an actual beneacquainted, and she said I was a friend who had come to factor, so powerful is even the notion of assistance to those them like a messenger, when all friends had forsaken them. who are in trouble. This determined me to be somewhat Even the eyes of the youth began to sparkle, as I talked a hypocrite regarding the world, and, as is generally done hopefully of returning health, and of his yet resuming his with youth, to paint things better than they were, to give art ; and answering me as well as his weakness would allow, the sick youth a salutary hope. I saw what he wanted, and

what would make him well. As he lay on his bed balancing between life and death, his thoughts were running upon Italy, and the glories of art which it contained; and the bare idea of his being spared in life, and yet getting to seeit, by some possibility of fortune, revived him almost into promised convalescence. I flattered the notion, though my heart trembled for the result. I talked of cloudless skies and warm breezes-the sunny plains of glorious beauty! and of the green olive, and the clustering vine—and the enchanting valley of the Arno-and the white palaces of Florenceand the classical treasures of Milan-and the healthful gaities of Naples,—and, last and highest, the nameless and exhaustless glories of the eternal city ; until the poor youth was ready to leap from his couch, and his eyes sparkled with joyful hope, and his tongue uttured nature's poetry, until his mother burst into tears at his sudden inspiration, and begged I would not excite him by delicious anticipations, that might yet end in the accustomed disappointment. But I had caught the enthusiasm myself, and said she should not be disappointed, for her son should live and get well, and should go to Italy to be a painter yet, and a great man of course, and the pride and blessing of her and his sisters.

“And when,” said the youth, “has the friend you have spoken of promised to come to me! Oh! if he will befriend me now, I will paint him pictures that shall more than repay him, according to the value of the world, for this immense favor.”

“In three days, Sir," said I_"in three days--no doubt: so keep up your heart, and get well, and be happy : think only of health and the warm plains of Italy, and you will see that what I expect shall be accomplished.” As soon as I had uttered these words, I hurried out of the house, for fear he should ask me any more questions.

“Am I mad?” said I to myself when I had left them, “ to raise the hopes of the unfortunate by absolute falsehood, to aggravate the sorrow of the needy, by the baseness of deception. Is all my knowledge of the world gone for naught, that I should expect the powerful to do a service to the obscure in private, or to care for the unfortunate to the extent of any real act of beneficence. What am I to do now? What is this family to do? I am worse than an idiot, to think to enjoy in my own person luxuries to which I never have been born ; namely, the luxury of rejoicing the hearts of others, by doing them services in the time of necessity.”

For the next few days I was almost desperate. I spoke to some of my great acquaintances, but they refused me in the most polite terms of benevolent cordiality, reminding me that it was impossible to assist every one, which of course was a good reason that they should trouble themselves about none. The third day came, and the day after that, and no one entered the solitary cattage ; and I began to be ashamed, and the youth seemed to grow worse, though perhaps actually getting better; for the spirits of all had greatly sunk, and suspended want and apprehending misery began to draw close around the family. I took once more my staff in my hand, and went to try again some who had known the widow in better days.

Why should I tell the particulars of my enquiries and representations. It is only the old story repeated; for sympathy of itself is a weak motive with most men, and I had no means of addressing the vanity or the fear of the common-place people of the world.

I was returning from a great man's house through a file of servants, when one of the men of livery who accompanied me to the door, asked me if I had not mentioned above stairs, the name of Ensign Lorimer's widow. When I had answered him in the affirmative, and told something of her story, and given her address, as he requested, the man wrote it down with a sort of triumphant look, but I did not see any particular meaning in it, and so I returned weary and disheartened to the widow's cottage.

I was shocked at the change which again appeared in the countenance of the disappointed youth : and still more at the effects both upon him and his mother, of returning depression. It was of little use to speak more of hope: for the grave and its desolation was again the theme of the lady, and the bitter and affecting bewailing of her husband. My only resource was now to Providence, which sometimes, as I argued, brings about strange relief in the very last hour of difficulty ;-when our conversation was disturbed by a message by the servant, that two strangers waited below to see Mrs. Lorimer. “ If they come with bad news," she replied calmly, “ I am prepared; for no good news ever comes to me. Bring them up into this room."

"Madam,” said a tall young man entering, with a military air, and having a scar on his face, "you, I presume, are the widow of Ensign Lorimer ?

The lady clasped her hands together, and almost screamed an affirmative.

“ Unexpected circumstances, Madam, prevented me from returning to this country until a few days ago,” he added, " and from delivering up my trust to its rightful owner. I was near Mr. Lorimer soon after he fell, and he charged me, if Providence spared me to return home in safety, to carry to you these valuable tokens of his deep love for you, and his dying anxiety for his children. This day only was I enabled to find you, through an old soldier in your husband's company,”—and he pointed to the servant behind him, who had addrested me so unexpectedly the day before. “ This is what your late husband put into my hands," he continued, “as I received his last blessing upon you and his children. It is part of the chance produce of war, which he had gained when we were all getting some spoil, and which may perhaps be useful now to you and your family," and opening a small case, which the servant carried, the young man produced a bagful of foreign coins, and several jewels of considerable value, which he respectfully handed to the widow.

The scene that now followed may not easily be described. The joy, mixed with grief and interesting recollections, and with the astonished sense of providential relief, giving new born hope at the moment of despair. The thankful feelings of the now happy family, were further enhanced when it came to be discovered, that the young stranger who had hoarded for them for several years all this wealth, was the son of an old and dear friend of the family, who had known the sick youth when a boy, and now enthusiastically entering into his views, flattered his hopes of resumed health, and offered to accompany him to Italy as soon as he could travel.

From this hour I saw the tide wholly turn, from sickness and depression, to health and hope. In a few weeks after, I saw the recovered artist depart for Italy, with a bounding heart and a sparkling eye. The whole family accompanied him, for this was the arrangement, and many blessings they prayed upon me, which I little deserved. Never shall

HER MAJESTY'S DRAWING-ROOM.

I forget the youth's expressions as he shook me by the hand, or the happy termination of the obscure trials of the widow and her son, which happened while I lived in a grand terrace in the notable city of London.

THE LESSO N.

FROM A LOVER.
I send thee not, my fond fair girl,

One gift of cost or of worth,
I send thee nought, my bosom friend,

But hopes of a warm beart's birth.
No treasures are mine from a foreign shore,

No relics of high wrougbt art;
But better than work from the Persian loom,
Or Indian gem, or a treasure from Rome,

Is a woman's loving heart.
That heart is thine thou knowest full well,

And thou knowest it pure and free,
And its kindest wish, and its fondest hope,

For ever flies to thee,
And instead of the gauds of this vain, vain world,

Its foolish toys and its mirth,
I'd have thee decked witb a virtuous mind,
Mingling with spirits good and kind,

Spirits of kindred worth.
My choicest hope and fond delight,

I would that such things could be !
Were to tend thee, and watch thee carefully,

From every danger free.
To ward off the ills and bring down the bliss,

In this wayward world througbout,
Give tbee strength to endure, and teach thee i-
For the proudest at times to the ills must bow-

That compass us about.

The Queen held a Drawing-Room on Thursday, the 21st at St. James's Palace. Her Majesty, attended by her suite, arrived shortly before two o'clock, in three carriages, from Buckingham Palace, escorted by a party of Life Guards.

The Queen's Guard of the Foot Guards, with their band, was on duty in the Colour-court, and a Guard of Honour of the Life Guards was stationed in the large court-yard of the Palace. Her Majesty's Honourable Corps of Gentlemen-atArms were stationed in the State rooms, and also in the portrait gallery and presence chamber. Messrs. Dobell and Hulse, the State Pages, and the Pages of Her Majesty, were on duty in their State uniforms.

The Duchess of Gloucester arrived attended by Lady Caroline Legge and Colonel Sir Samuel G. Higgins. Her Royal Highness entered by the garden gate.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge came attended by Miss Kerr and Sir William Davison.

The Hereditary Grand Duke of Saxe Weimar was attended by M. de Wagner and Captain Count de Benst.

The Duke of Sussex and the Princess de Leiningen also came to the Drawing-Room.

Her Majesty received their Royal and Serene Highnesses in the Royal closet.

The principal Knights of the several Orders of Knighthood who attended the Drawing-Room wore their respective collars.

The Queen entered the throne room, attended by the Marchioness of Normanby (in Waiting), the Marchioness of Tavistock, the Countess of Charlemont, Lady Lyttleton, and the Countess of Burlington, Ladies of the Bedchamber; Hon. Miss Cocks (in Waiting), Hon. Miss Cavendish (in Waiting), Hon. Miss Pitt, Hon. Miss Murray, Hon. Miss Paget, and the Hon. Miss Anson, Maids of Honour; Lady Caroline Barrington (in Waiting), Lady Charlotte Copley, Hon. Mrs. Brand, Lady Harriet Clive, Hon. Mrs. George Campbell, Lady Gardiner, and Viscountess Forbes, Women of the Bedchamber; Lord Byron, Lord in Waiting; Mr. Rich, Groom in Waiting; and Colonel Wemyss, Equerry in Waiting; her Majesty's train being supported by Master Cavendish and Master Chichester, Pages of Honour.

To teach thee how, from the saddest source,

Pleasure will oftime spring,
As the bird is known, though lost its mate,

Again to take the wing.
As the flower droops again to revive,

And laugh in the face of day-
As tbe bee from poison its honey distills,
And the stormy clouds from murmuring rills,

That dance in the sunny ray.
And I'd have thee know, my gentle girl,

Though thy summer friends are gone, Though grief may follow the parting scene,

Thou art not left alone.
For memory, constant griest, will still

Call up the days you love,
Re-say the words, and re-sing the songs,
Recall all that to them belongs,

And the kindest of all will prove.

And whether you 'hink of Gwillian's glen,

Or the social evening dear,
Of the glandsome few, so glad with thee,

I know I sball be there.
And believe me, I-if I never again,

Should renew those thoughts with theeShall be thinking still of those pleasant hours, And the friends that thus echoed back to ours, Glad stories of mirth and glee.

LADIES' DRESSES. Her Majesty.–A dress of rich white satin, trimmed with a deep blonde flounce, the body and sleeves splendidly ornamented with diamonds and blonde; train of beautiful white satin, brocaded in gold and colors (of Spitalfields manufacture) lined with white satin, and elegantly trimmed with a wreath of arbutus. Headdress, a magnificent diamond diadem, feathers, and lappets.

H. R. H, The Duchess of Cambridge.—A blonde net dress, over white satin, trimmed with blonde and flowers; rich white satin train, embroidered with gold; body and sleeves trimmed with blonde, and magnificently ornamented with sapphires and diamonds. Headdress, plume of feathers, diadem of sapphires and diamonds; necklace and ear rings to correspond.

Duchess of Bedford.—Court costume, composed of a Chantilly blonde dress, over rich white satin ; train and body of rich green striped watered silk, lined with satin, and trimmed with blonde; blonde fichu and ruffles. Headdress, plume of feathers, blonde lappets, and diamonds.

And among them all, though thine tbeir hearts,

There is not one so full
Of heart-born wishes and ardent bopes,

That life so sad and dull
To others, may prove, to thee, my girl,

A scene of jy and bliss.
May thine beari sport as free as a banner unfurled,
And after thy hopes of the next bright world

Thy path be blessed in tbis.

Duchess of Buckingham and Chandos.-Court costume, of train and body, in a rich damask blank satine, trimmed composed of a black tulle dress, trimmed with tulle flounce,

with white rich poult de soie, and richly ornamented with over a black satin slip; train and body of rich black satin, 1 a very beautiful ancienne gulpure and ribbon; body and trimmed with tulle; body and sleeves trimmed with lace. sleeves elegantly trimmed, with a splendid berthe and enHeaddress, plume of feathers, lace lappets, and diamonds. gageantes en ancienne guipure; skirt in rich white satin,

Duchess of Montrose.—A superb Brussels lace dress, over i richly trimmed with a deep flounce in guipure to corresa pale-blue gros de Naples slip, trimmed en tablier with U pond. Headdress, diamonds, ostrich feathers, and ancienne bouquets of blue flowers and silver wheat; manteau of pale guipure lappets. blue crape over gros de Naples, trimmed round with Brus Countess of Dunmore.- A bodice and train of rich brosels lace. Headdress, ostrich feathers, Brussels lace lappets, caded peach satin, lined with white, prettily trimmed with and diamonds.

a bouillon of net and neuds of ribbon; petticoat of splendid Drichess of Somerset.--Court costume, composed of a Brussels point, over white satin slip; berthe and sabots of rich white brocaded dress, trimmed with blonde flounces; Brussels point. Headdress, feathers, and lappets to cortrain of rich lilac and silver brocade, lined with satin, and responds; ornaments, diamonds. trimmed with blonde; body richly ornamented with pearls Countess of Glengall.-Manteau of dove-coloured tabiand diamonds. Headdress, plume of feathers, blonde net, trimmed with ruches of tulle and geranium; corsage lappets, and a Victoria wreath of lilac and silver leaves, trimmed with gold blonde ; petticoat of white crepe lisse, intermixed with pearls and diamonds.

over white satin, trimmed with illusion tulle and gold. Marchioness of Douro.—Train of rich white satin, trim Headdress, white ostrich feathers and diamonds. med with Brussels point, festooned with roses ; Brussels Countess of Listowel.—White satin dress, richly embroipoint berthe and ruffles; Brussels lace petticoat, over satin; dered with silver leaves and brown velvet volubiles; train ornaments, a magnificent coronet of diamonds, with neck| in orange glace poult de soie; body and sleeves a la Velace, earrings, and stomacher en suite. Headdress, feathers netienne, trimmed with silver lace. Headdress, diamonds, and point lace lappets.

feathers, and lappets. Marchioness of Tavistock.—Costume de Cour, composed Countess of Mexborough.-A dress of rich black satin, of a most splendid silver dress, beautifully trimmed; train handsomely trimmed en tablier with erepe lisse, and næuds of white satin, lined with the same, and trimmed with silver of black satin ribbon continuing round the bottom to corribbon and silver flowers. Headdress, ostrich feathers, respond; berthe and engageantes of rich blond lace; a emeralds, and costly diamonds ; lappets of silver blonde.

manteau of black satin, trimmed with crepe lisse. HeadMarchioness of Tweeddale.Train of rich ecru glace dress, black lace, with lappets and Court plume. satin, with blonde mantilla and ruffles; petticoat of white Ann, Countess of Newburgh.-Robe of superb white samoire, trimmed with bouffants of tulle and bouquets of tin, with a deep flounce of Mechlin lace; train of rich golddahlias and nut blossom. Headdress, feathers and blonde colored satin, with embossed pattern of lilac and white lappets; ornaments, emeralds and diamonds.

flowers, lined with gros de Naples of the same color, and Countess of Aylesford.A beautiful white satin dress, tastefully trimmed in festoons with broad Mechlin lace ; trimmed with superb Brussels lace, with mantilla, lappe's, corsage and sleeves to correspond ; necklace of Oriental and pagodes of the same; train of violet satin, embroidered pearls and diamond pendent. Head-dress, a toque, with with white flowers, tastefully trimmed. Headdress, neck ostrich feathers. a profusion of diamonds, Mechlin lace lace, earrings and diamonds.

lappets, and ear-rings of diamonds. Countess of Beverley.Costume de Cour; a bodice and Countess of Orkney.-Train and bodice of rich brocade train of rich vapeur moire silk, lined with white gros, blue satin, lined with white moire, tastefully trimmed with superbly trimmed with point lace; berthe and sabots to blonde and bouquets of marabouts ; dress of superb figured correspond ; petticoat of rich white figured satin, trimmed white satin, flounced with broad blonde; berthe and sabots tastefully with a gil de loup of tulle; headed by flounces of of the same. Head-dress and ornaments, feathers, blonde satin and point lace. Headdress, feathers, point lappets, lappets, and a magnificent suit of diamonds. and a profusion of diamonds.

Countess of Powis.—A bodice and train of black crape, Countess Bruce.-Train of rich lilac glace watered silk, over gros de Naples, trimmed with a broad band of bugles, trimmed with blonde; dress of white satin, trimmed to cor a petticoat of black crape, over a gros de Naples slip, trimrespond. Headdress, ostrich plume, blonde lappets, and med with flounces of the same, headed with a bugle trimdiamond ornaments.

ming. Head-dress, feathers and black crape lappets ; Countess Cadogan.-Costume de Cour; manteau of pe ornaments, jet. ruche green voleurs epingle, lined with rich white gros, Countess of Sefton.—Train of rich white moire, trimmed and trimmed with a chef en or ; bodice to correspond, with ruche of crape, tulle tucker and ruffles ; petticoat of splendidly ornamented with gold blonde and chef; a petti white crape, over glace gros de Naples, festooned with boucoat of tulle, over white satin, magnificently embroidered quets of white roses. Head-dress, feathers and tulle lapwith gold, and trimmed with a gil de loup of tulle, inter pets, ornaments, diamonds and pearls. spersed with gold chef and ribbon. Headdress, feathers Countess Somers.--A dress of rich white satin, trimmed and gold blonde lappets ; ornaments, a profusion of dia with a contrecarrar of tulle : train, a handsome brocaded monds.

silk, lined with white satin, and trimmed with blond lace Countess of Chichester.—Train of rich mais satin, lined and blue satin ; sabots and berthe of deep blonde. Headwith white glace gros de Naples; petticoat of white moire. dress, blue velvet toque, feathers, lappets, and a profusion trimmed with bouffants of tulle. Headdress, feathers and diamonds. blonde lappets; ornaments, emeralds-and diamonds.

Countess of Warwick-Court costume, composed of a Countess of Clarendon.—A costume de Cour, composed rich white figured satin dress, trimmed with two Chantilly

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