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bits of tinsel, all fixed upon a cardboard | ance, no ease of motion ; it is real hard foundation that lowers a good foot and work, and they go at it with a will. a half in height, and overshadows the The men hold their partners firmly wearer's head and face. It is wonder- round the waist ; the girls clasp their ful how they can bear the weight of arms round the necks of the men ; and them. The men are some in peasant thus solidly fastened together they costume, and some in ordinary dress ; gyrate in heavy-breathing solemnity. there is little of the picturesque moun- Some of the bridesmaids are dancing, taineer of our imagination about them. still crowned with their tinsel magnifi

Our entrance does not cause any sur cence, which shakes perilously at every prise. The revellers stare at us for hop; they look anxious, and now and a moment with strange, stupid faces. then stop to adjust themselves. When The bride and bridegroom, scated si- the dancers are tired out and can hop lently and stolidly side by side, take no no more, they descend to consume notice of us at all as we take our seats more wine and cherry tarts, and some near the door, after bowing politely to of the replete ones below ascend to the company. It is a strange assem- take their places. bly. The air is heavy with the fumes The landlord has appeared by this of wine and tobacco, and the square, time — a stout man, very urgent in his heavy German faces loom through a invitations to take more wine, and to cloud of smoke. There is no laughter, join more freely in the festivities; and no jesting; only a subdued growl of our linguist inquires of him whether guttural speech. Now and then one of there is anything more to see, or if this the women strikes up a song, and her comprises all the wedding ceremonies. shrill voice breaks sharply into the dull Not by any means, it seems. The murmur of voices. She sings a verse dancing and eating and drinking will or two in a monotonous sing-song, and continue all night and all the next day. then drops into silence again. More In the evening the bridegroom will wine, more cherry tarts. From over-claim his bride, and all the girls of the head comes a heavy, measured thump-village will form a circle around her, ing on the floor, and the twanging of a and refuse to give her up. Then the couple of fiddles. One of the wedding bridegroom will offer to buy her, and guests has gone to sleep already, with the girls will demand so much wine as his head fallen forward on the smeary her price ; and when that is given she table. The two small windows are will be surrendered to him. filled up by the villagers, who look on 66 And then it is all over ?” we supfrom the outside, and who have evi- pose. Not at all. The wine paid for dently had their share of wine. They the bride has to be drunk, and the shout remarks through the windows dancing will be kept up through the which seem to be of such an exceed- night, and there will be more feasting ingly jocular character, that we are and more dancing for the rest of the thankful our knowledge of the patois week. This, we must understand, is a does not permit us to appreciate them real Black Forest wedding of the old at their full value.

style. The English imagination shudA little of this festivity goes a long ders at the prospect. way ; let us go up-stairs and see the In the mean time it is growing dark, dancing. It is not easily seen through and they have lighted two great lamps the clouds of dust that fill the room. in the banqueting-room. We have The floor is trenibling under the rhyth- seen enough, and are anxious to demic shock of the heavy feet; the walls part; the simple mountaineers do not echo to the shriek of the fiddles; and improve in their manners as the feast in the midst of the dust and noise the continues. But neither carriage nor wedding guests dance the hop waltz driver appears, and there is nothing for with terrible energy.

There is no it but for our linguist to go in search of graceful languor about their perform-them, while we wait in the porch.

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BY F. M. F. SKENE.

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Looking through the windows of the and falls into a drunken slumber. great room, we see the bride and bride- Down we go through the black shadgroom still seated side by side, silent ows of the trees, and across the moonand unsmiling, but the guests are be- lit spaces where the light is as clear as coming noisier, and do not look the day – past the little dim villages, where better for their increased liveliness. the dogs bark hoarsely as we go by,

Here comes our driver at last, but, and the dull tinkle of a cow-bell sounds alas ! he is not of much use. He has a out of the dark woods beyond ; down lady upon each arm ; he has been and down through the dewy night, drinking the bride's health, and is un- with a clatter and tramp of hoofs, with steady of utterance and much uplifted due caution as to corners and renewed in spirits — not to say drunk. He is anxiety as to meeting another carriage ; not singular in this respect; every soul till the cluster of lights below spreads in the village is more or less intoxi- out and broadens into the tiny town, cated ; yet the horses must be har- and we roll over the bridge into Triberg nessed, and we set to work ourselves, again. with a drunken ostler holding an unsteady lantern by way of assistance.

Dark figures waver and plunge about in the shadows, and form a derisive

From Blackwood's Magazine. crowd around us ; the wedding guests GLIMPSES OF SOME VANISHED are roaring the chorus of a patois song

CELEBRITIES. within ; the smoky, yellow light from the windows lights up the crowd of SEPTUAGENARIANS are not, as silly, drunken faces, laughing, gaping, rule, disposed to congratulate themdistorted, now in the flare, now in the selves on having reached such an adshadow; a shifting phantasmagoria, au vanced stage on the journey of life; ugly dream. They are dancing now but when that venerable age has been outside the inn as well as inside ; some attained with faculties unimpaired and of the men climb up and hold on to the memory keen as ever, there is a strong carriage, with hideous grimaces and compensation for its manifest disadshouts of laughter. It is certainly time vantages in the vivid recollection of to be off.

distinguished personages met during a At last it is done, and with some long career, whom the present generadifficulty the driver is extricated from tion can never have kuown otherwise the crowd and persuaded to mount the than by tradition. That is my actual box. The frightened horses rear and position, and it leads me to the concluplunge, and the peasants fall back; we sion that my recollections of various get away with a dash and scramble, stars which have ceased to shine on swaying from one side of the street to earth may have a certain value from the other under the guidance of the the fact that very few now living can drunken coachman and pursued with at all share them with me. I shall drunken laughter and shouts. One un- contine myself to records of those who couth figure starts in aimless pursuit, have passed from this world, and most but he cannot get far, and reels and of whom have probably no immediate falls heavily on the rough stones. relations left among us, so that I can

The flare of coarse light and the ugly, not risk hurting the susceptibilities of distorted faces disappear behind us, survivors. though we still hear the rough voices and high-pitched laughter. The dark One of the earliest of my noteworthy stillness of the mountain road comes as recollections is that of a dull depressing a blessed relief when we are finally out day under Scottish skies, when I shared of sight and hearing of the real Black the easy-chair in which my father's Forest weddiny. The driver is dispos- dearest friend reposed, with his kind sessed of his reins as a preliminary, arm thrown round the little girl who

LIVING AGE. VOL. VII. 334

were

nestled by his side- an elderly man recollections of Sir Walter Scott; but with grey hair falling over his promi- another very marked remembrance I nent forehead, thick bushy eyebrows have of him, which is less agreeable almost hiding the eyes that were at to myself, while it illustrates the exthat moment dim and sad, but capable treme thoughtfulness and kindness of gleaming with fiery enthusiasm with which he always treated the chilwhen roused on subjects immortalized dren of his friend. Although in those by his genius or connected with the days Sir Walter was to me only a most welfare of his beloved native land. delightful old gentleman, who gave me His countenance then wore a sombre charming presents and was the grandexpression ; for it was a marked and father of my special companion and mournful day in the life of Walter playmate, little delicate Johnny LockScott - almost the darkest he had ever hart, I yet knew perfectly well that he known since the blow which had wrote books which

actually struck him the evening before, when printed, and could be seen bound in he returned home from a gay dinner- volumes on our drawing-room table. party in our house, announced the This fact raised a very perplexing total wreck of his fortunes, the loss of question in my mind as to what could many years of arduous labor, and the possibly be the sensations of a person necessity of recommencing yet more who saw some one else engaged in strenuous and painful toil if he was to reading the very pages they had writsave any portion of the lands at Ab-ten themselves ; it appeared to me a botsford that were so dear to his heart. most extraordinary position for any one He had come for quiet and refuge from to be placed in. What could be their visitors to my father's house, where he feelings? Would they be dreadfully was as free as in his own; but he said ashamed, or perhaps very proud ; or frankly, he felt unequal to any society would they snatch the book away and but that of his friend's youngest child, pretend they had nothing to do with who would amuse him with her merry it? I felt I must solve this mighty bavardage. So I was left alone with problem, even at the risk of encounterhim that afternoon, and the scene is ing stern rebuke for disobeying the present with me as if it were yesterday. laws which regulated my bebavior in Sir Walter, addressing me with the various respects. One day Sir Walter gentle “ dearie” he was wont to apply was dining at our house. I was, of to little children, told me that he did course, too young to be at table ; but not wish to speak himself at all, but he I was allowed to spend half an hour in would be glad to listen to some fairy- the drawing-room when the guests stories if I had any to tell him. Noth- came up from diuner. On this occaing was easier to me, as fairies and siou, brimful of a great project, I hurhobgoblins were the constant compan-ried down and found myself fortunately ions of my thoughts at that period of alone for a few minutes before they my existence, and I plunged at once appeared. I abstracted from the table into a wild invention of what I im- one of the novels which I knew to agined to be the manners and customs have been written by Sir Walter Scott, of such frolicsome beings, to all of and took my place on a little stool by which he listened patiently for a long the fireside with the book open on my time, and often laughed out heartily in knees; then I waited till the heavy, spite of his overhanging gloom. I was halting step of the great author sounded very sorry when a grave person in on the stair, and he came into the room authority came to take me back to my leaning, as usual, on the strong stick schoolroom, and leave the greatest of which his lameness rendered necesall story-tellers to forget the child's sary. He came towards me at once, fantastic romance in his own dark with his accustomed cordial kindness to thoughts.

children, and seeing me apparently enThat is one of my most pleasant gaged in reading, he said with a smile,

"Well, my little lady, what have you | were at last dispelled by the arrival of got there? I suppose it is the Arabian two new charming playmates, whose Nights.'' I raised my head very sol- names are connected with some very emnly, and fixed my eyes with a scru- tragic episodes in history. Charles X., tinizing gaze on his kind face as I said the exiled king of France, had taken slowly, "No; it is a book called 'The refuge in the old palace of Holyrood Abbot." For a moment he looked when he was driven from his throne much astonished at the audacity of this and country; and he brought with him mite of a child, for whom in any case his grandchildren, the son and daughhis novels could not at that time beter of the murdered Duc de Berri considered suitable reading, as being Henri Dieudonné, Duc de Bordeaux, far beyond her comprehension; then known later as the Comte de Chamhis expression changed to one of de- bord, and his sister Louise, whom we cided displeasure, and he half turned to were told to call simply mademoiselle ; my father, who had not noticed me; their mother, the Duchesse de Berri, but remembering apparently that he being engaged in her heroic adventures might draw down vials of wrath on my in La Vendée and elsewhere, which head if he made known my imperti- were brought to an ignominious close nence, he gave me a look which showed by her unfortunate attachment to a me that I was at once to close the man in no way fitted to mate with her. book and put it away, and then he left It was thought well that the royal me and engaged my father in conversa- children should have some English tion, so that my small escapade should companions, and as my parents were not be known, which it never was till I acquainted with the Duchesse de Gonnow reveal it some sixty years later. taut, under whose care they were, my Children and dogs were, in truth, the sister and I were chosen to associate object of Sir Walter's strongest regard, with them, both at Holyrood and in our and the chief sources of his happiness own house. The Duc de Bordeaux through life. His grandchildren was somewhat more carefully guarded John Hugh, Walter, and Charlotte than his sister, so we chiefly met him Lockhart- were all most dear to him; in the palace; but mademoiselle was but his affections centred chiefly on allowed to come and spend many happy the thoughtful, intellectual boy Johnny, days with us in our home. A more who, after a few years of suffering from delightful companion could not have spine complaint, sunk into the grave at been granted to us. She was a bright, a time when the shadow of death was vivacious child, full of intelligence and already so closely enshrouding his illus- feeling, and although merry enough trious grandfather that he was no when engaged in play with us, she was longer capable of the acute grief which yet perfectly conscious of her own powould earlier have been roused in him sition and the reverses of her family, by that untimely departure. and often speculated in the quaintest manner as to what her own fate was likely to be whether she was to find herself on some European throne, or in neglected obscurity, perhaps in a prison. Sometimes, in accordance with these previsions, we would vary our amusements from hide-and-seek and other games to the arrangement of a mimic court, in which mademoiselle was perched on a throne formed of cushions piled upon the table, while My own childish regrets when I we acted as ladies-in-waiting, and went finally lost sight of gentle, clever through all the ceremonies of presenJohnny, some time before his death, tations and solemn petitions humbly

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Johnny had read the "Tales of a Grandfather," dedicated to himself, and they had roused in him very warlike aspirations, ill and feeble as he was. I remember him so well lying on the sofa in our drawing-room, and making me help him in the management of a toy gun he possessed, to the great danger of my mother's old china, if to nothing else.

more.

laid at her Majesty's feet. On these paper having been provided for each occasions the little princess conducted of us, we all sat down to the table. herself with the most perfect dignity, The scene is before me now. The Duc and showed the keenest recollections of de Bordeaux, a quiet, fair-haired boy, all the etiquette of her royal home in laboriously setting to work in perfect the beloved Paris she was to see no silence ; mademoiselle, full of anima

Mademoiselle's visits to our tion and excitement, talking rapidly in house came to an abrupt and painful French and expressing her hopes of end by the dastardly action of a French winning the coveted prize. I was the revolutionary, who waylaid her as she youngest child in the room, and my was alighting from her carriage at our attempts must have been of the crudest door, and heaped curses on all who description. What I made of the court bore the name of Bourbon with the scene I do not remember, but when it fiercest invectives. Her governess, came to the ship I portrayed, I added a with the help of our butler, succeeded flag to it which was about twice the in hurrying the terrified child into the size of the vessel itself. Then it ochouse and closing the door on the mis- curred to me that my conspicuous creant, who would have followed ; but banner would be the better of some poor mademoiselle came flying into the ornamentation, so I drew some flowers drawing-room, sobbing out her indig- upon it, entirely the offspring of my nation and terror. “Il a dit des in- own fancy. When the finished draw. jures de mon cher grand-père,” she ings were collected for judgment, my repeated over and over again as we flowery' flag instantly attracted the attried to pacify her, and it was sometention of the loyal French exiles, and time before she recovered her com- a universal cry arose, “Les fleurs-deposure.

lis ! les fleurs-de-lis! the dear sympa. After that unpleasant incident the thetic child has drawn the fleurs-de-lis king, Charles X., decreed that neither in honor of France !! Ola chère petite ! of the children should leave the pre- la charmante enfant ! to her must the cincts of the palace, and thenceforth all prize be awarded without doubt." I our meetings with them took place at was much too shy and shamefaced to Holyrood. We always went there in make any avowal of the fact that I the evening when the hours of instruc- knew nothing whatever about the tion for the royal children were over, fleurs-de-lis, and that no sentiment and although the king himself was towards France had inspired me in exnever present, the ladies and gentle-ecuting the meaningless hieroglyphics men who had accompanied him in his on my flag. So M. d'Hardevilliers' exile were always there, ready to assist beautiful drawing was presented to me in making the time pass pleasantly for - most unworthy of it - and it is in all. I have a special recollection of my possession to this day, a graceful one of those evenings, from an absurd representation of the different meanlittle incident conuected with myself ings of the charade. which was very characteristic of French The subsequent fate of bright, highvivacity and enthusiasm. The amuse-spirited mademoiselle is well known. ment provided for us on that occasion She became the wife of the Duke of was the illustration of a charade by Parma, who was cruelly assassinated drawings, giving our own conception when their children were growing up of the various meanings attached to round them ; and their granddaughter, each syllable, and the prize given to Princess Marie Louise, is now sharing the one who was found to have been the somewhat unsteady throne of the most successful was to be the draw - Prince Ferdinand of Bulgaria, who is ing executed by M. d'Hardevilliers, grandson to Louis Philippe, so that the one of the king's gentlemen, who was houses of Bourbon and Orleans are au admirable artist. The word given united in their marriage. The ultimate was "courtship," and pencils and disappearance of the Comte de Cham

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