been worn of different colours, but the most favourite was white. The fabric was linen, and so soft as to display, with modest grace, the motion of the limbs. Were I at all infected with love of the horrible, and were I not afraid of creating a superstitious repugmance in the fancy of your Ladyship to my subject, I would say, what seems to ine to be the truth, that nothing more nearly resembles the under garment of an Anglo-Saxon lady, than the shroud of one of her deceased descendants in the nineteenth century. The gown comes next in rotation.—I know that a romance writer iu naming this part of our fair ancestors' wardrobe, would dignify it with the appellation of robe, investure, &c. Any title, in short, that is not simple and easy, and descriptive of the thing. But nothing is so descriptive of the modern gown as the ancient gown; so, without attempting ro mantic flight, I presume to introduce the gradual fashion under its homely and proper pame. The form of this exterior garment, throughout the whole of the eighth century, never varied; its sleeves, indeed, were subject to some difference in the mode, sometimes they reached to the wrist, and sometimes only to the elbow. It was bound round the waist with a cestus, and when permitted to fall to its full length, descended to the ground, so as to completely cover the under garment. The gown usually displayed all the taste, industry, and magnificence of the fair wearer; she adorned it according to her talents and her means, with needle-work of variegated stripes, borders, foliage, and flowers. A sort of surtout was, in winter, worn over this. It was constructed of warmer materials, with the sleeves so long that they fell over the bands, reaching below the fingers. Something similar to this is the caftan, at present worn in the Greek isles, where the sleeve conceals the hands as much as a veil does the face. This outer garment was possibly lined with furs. The gown, during cold seasons, might be made of woollen cloth; in summer, the highest orders could have it of silk; but, as that material was very rare and costly, the common rauks must have thought themselves sufficiently sumptuous in fine linen. A coverchief, kerchief, or veil, was the ornament of the head; and when turned back from the face, gave the whole female figure the air of a Madona. I observed a little before, that the most distinguished garment of the Anglo-Saxon hero was his mantle. His lady too, assumed this apple vestment as an essential part of her dress. During all my researches I have never been able to trace any indication of fibula, broche, or belt, in the manner of those ladies fastening on their mantle; but I should suppose from its form being oval, that an aperture was made in the middle of sufficient size to admit the head to pass through it, when cast upon the shoulders. Sometimes the aperture was so made as to allow of a greater quantity of drapery flowing behind than before, and on the arm. The kerchief, by falling from the head down upon the shoulders, gracefully mingled with the mantle, and when both were of one colour, much increased the simple harmony of the dress. The kerchief was seldom used by young women for more than au out-ofdoor habit; within their houses they displayed fine and luxuriant heads of hair, ornamented with natural flowers, or half circlets of gold. Indeed beautiful hair was held in such estimation by their Saxon ancestors, that we find from Tacitus, the punishment for adultery was to shave the head. Having descanted thus much on the tiers and robings of these fair and venerable dames, it is very proper that I should throw myself at their feet, before I presume to inform your Ladyship how these pretty feet are clad. But so modest are these ladies, with all my peeping and prying I have hardly yet been able, even in their effigies, to catch one glimpse of the tip of their toe. The only possible source of information I can apply to, is a few drawings of that age, and in them I find the under garment of such an envious length as to conceal almost the whole of the foot. In one or two instances, where the shoe is represented more distinctly than usual, it appears to have been fastened immediately below the aukles, without any larger opening than was absolutely necessary to admit the foot. These shoes were mostly of a black colour; but sometimes they were superseded by the more elegant hue of white, laced up the front, and perfectly flexible to motion. I know not whether your Ladyship have become a practitioner in the Crispin science. Many of your sister Peeresses are as nimble at the awl as at the needle; and to them I must refer you to make some guess at the material of which the Saxon ladies formed their shoes. Of their various manufactures I will furnish you with a list, and an analysis or description in my next; and meanwhile I remain, from the crown of my head to the sole of my foot, your Ladyship's own devoted PARIS. THE CHATEAU OF ROUSSILLON. (Continued from Page 138.) JULIE found her mother alone, for Francois had not yet returned; and Madame St. Hypolite, though somewhat uneasy, was not agitated, naturally supposing that the brother and sister were together under shelter of some shepherd's hut. Julie's hurried address quickly explained the cause of her re-appearance with a stranger; and while she was yet speaking, the entrance of Francois (who had taken a different path from his sister,) terminated every other alarm. "How much I have to thank you for, kind Sir!" exclaimed Madame, addressing the unknown; "perhaps you will allow my son an opportunity of shewing our gratitude, by becoming his guest while you stay in Roussillon, and taking him for your guide in any future ramble." While she spoke the stranger remained in the shade, but advancing to reply, he drew towards the spot where Madame and her daughter were standing. They were near an opened lattice, and the rising moon quivering through the branches of a plane-tree, threw its pale light over his face and figure. The expression of the one, and the noble grace of the other, brought a glow of admiration into the cheek of Julie; but Madame suddenly started, half uttered an exclamation of surprize, checked it, looked earnestly at him again, then removing her eyes, sat down with a disordered air. The stranger having just raised his fine eyes, and then respectfully dropped them, did not observe any thing unusual in this reception. He proceeded to express the satisfaction he derived from having been serviceable to Mademoiselle St. Hypolite, and described himself as an Italiau, travelling for amusement, without any motive for staying longer in a place than while its natural curiosities remained unexhausted; he was, however, flattered by Madame's invitation; and upon its renewal by Francois, frankly accepted it. While he was speaking Julie again remarked those uncommon fluctuations of colour in his complexion which she had before noticed; she thought too, that his voice became faint and tremulous, like one who suffers." You are not well, Sir, I am convinced," she anxiously exclaimed. The unknown thanked her with a pensive smile, and confessing that he was not quite well and wanted air, Francois threw open a glass door, through which they went together upon the lawn. Julie's eyes followed them there; she saw them converse a few moments, after which her brother hastened his companion away towards a path which led to his own apartments. At that moment conviction of the truth burst on her mind, and she hastily exclaimed:-" Ah! he is hurt then." This exclamation roused her mother from a deep reverie into which she had fallen, and her inquiry induced Julie to confess her fears that the stranger had been injured by the tree which fell at the very instant of his approach to succour her on the mountain. This conjecture was but too well founded; Francois shortly appeared to apprise them of its truth. The amiable stranger was then waiting in his apartment for a surgeon, to whom Francois had dispatched a messenger, and he feared that upon inspection his arm would be found to be broken. This painful intelligence put to flight all the agitating ideas which the air and manner of their guest had conjured up in the mind of Madame St. Hypolite Julie was grief-struck, since her deliverer had suffered on her account; and till the surgeon arrived, and pronounced upon the ultimate safety of his patient, the whole chateau was in distress. The arm was set, a composing draught administered, the interesting unknown persuaded to take up his residence that very night at the chateau, and a servant dispatched for his valet, &c. to the hotel of a neighbouring town. All was hurry and uneasiness till the invalid had retired to rest; and after seeing him comfortably established in the most agreeable apartments of the chateau, Francois came to quiet the anxiety of his mother and sister. Their temperate fruit-supper was standing untouched upon the table, when he called them to sit down with him, and in his usually gay accent exclaimed:-"I advise you to take notable care of your heart, Julie! for the ro. mance has begun in due form, and threatens therefore consistency in all its parts. Your preserver has broken an arm in your rescue (pray Heaven he breaks no hearts eventually), is likely to be just ill enough to excite ninetynine thousand tender fears, but not so ill as to die; consequently, fall in love with him you must. So far all will run iu propria forma; but for the catastrophe-whether in such a case that would be merry or miserable I am not prophetic enough to foresee." "His name?-who is he?-what are his connections?" enquired Madame eagerly."Not deeming him quite in a situation to get up and rob the house during the night," returned Francois, "I have not thought it necessary to scrutinize too closely into his character; I only gather from his servant that his name is Bertolini, and that he is of Venice." Madame St. Hypolite's glow of complexion and feeling were tranquillized by this reply: she was ashamed to confess to herself that she was disappointed to learn his name; and still less willing to acknowledge to her children that a strong resemblance between the stranger and her former lover, the Marquis Solerno, had given birth to the hope of his being that nobleman's son. She bowed to her son's answer in silence. Julie smiled at her brother's raillery on the romance of the evening, and having replied to it in the same lively strain, ventured to express more seriously the interest her deliverer had excited.—“ Do not attempt the slightest apology about the matter!" interrupted the whimsical Francois; "I tell you it would be perfectly monstrous if you did not fall in love with your hero the moment you heard of his broken arm. Now I intended to have given the romance a crooked turn, and stalked through it in the character of a surly brother frowning upon a mutual passion, through twelve quarto volumes; but the dence is in it, this Bertolini has charmed me out of the resolve. You know, Julie, that most strongly charactered minds like their opposites; now I am of that order. Bertolini is my antipodes, sad, serious, dignified, courteous, gentle, &c. and I have taken a most overwhelming liking to him. While the surgeon was with us he conversed, after he was gone he conversed—” "Upon what subjects, my son?" "Delightful! I tell you," answered Francois ardently. "I swear to you, my sweet sister, that in our short conversation upon the most common-place topics, Bertolini's rich and elegant mind imparted to them all the charm of novelty. I know not when indeed I have been so pleased with any one; and so far, therefore, from regretting the accident, I am selfish enough to rejoice in it; as otherwise I suspect from something which dropped from Bertolini, we should not have been able to have detained him beyoud a day or two." Francois now entered into a more satisfactory, because more particular, repetition of their mutual discourse; and in discussions of the Italian's person and manner, and conjectures upon his rank and circumstances, the remainder of the evening passed away. Madame St. Hypolite was attentive to all that passed between her son and daughter, but she took little share in the conversation. Her thoughts had received too forcible a bent from the resemblance of Bertolini to Solerno, not to pursue the same track in silence, or rather they were busy with scenes of other days; and with the tenderness of a heart whose affections were all regulated but not annihilated by reason, the widow of St. Hypolite thought of Solerno with interest and regret. At a late hour the family separated for their different apartments. Francois hastened to the chamber of his guest to inquire if he slept; and Julie went to seat herself at her window, there to gaze on the moon, and to fall into a long reverie upon the probable cause of that sadness which she had remarked in the countenance of Bertolini, and which she fancied was totally independent of bodily pain. It was some days before the fever consequent on his accident permitted Signor Bertolini to receive a visit from the ladies of the chateau; but no sooner had he obtained the surgeon's permission to remove during the day iuto a room adjoining his chamber, than he deputed Francois with his wish that Madame St. Hypolite and daughter would afford him an op "O! the surrounding scenery, the moon, the trees, the chateau, my mother, my sister,portunity of thanking them for their various &c. &c.; very poor materials you must needs confess, yet out of them this delightful Italian contrived to concoct as pretty a conversation as ever these ears thrilled with." "Nay, Francois," exclaimed Julie, colouring and shaking her head, “I never know when you are series and when in jest; how are we to understand this rhapsody? such a mixture of quaint words and sentimental terms makes me suspect you of ridiculing this generous stranger. Is he pleasing, or is he not?" attentions The ladies accepted the invitation.-Julie's interest had been at first so strongly excited by the conduct and appearance of her preserver, and afterwards so much heightened by her brother's account of his mental accomplishments, that she entered the apartinent which contained him with an emotion perfectly new to her young and unpractised heart. Bertolini was lying along a low sofa, his head supported on one arm, with the air of a man completely abstracted: never had Julie 1 seen an object so interesting. His figure, At the sound of Madame St. Hypolite's kind voice Bertolini started, roused himself with a smile like sudden sunshine, and after many expressions of the most graceful gratitude, began to talk of the probable tax his illness would impose upon his friends "I trust it is not necessary for me to tell you, Signior," replied Madame, “that both gratitude and inelination will make any attention we can pay you a real pleasure to us. I promise you all the cares of friendship for as long a period as you can oblige us with your society; but if there be any relatives whose attendance and society would more surely beguile the tedium. of indisposion, pray command this house, and have them with you.” should have said, insipid cup of life; it is only self-reproach which should render it bitter. So then, dear Madame, I do not carry the air of the Adriatic in my countenance?" "You carry something better and dearer," replied Madame, hurried away by the mixedemotions his reply had occasioned; "you resemble one whom I formerly knew, and greatly valued."-She recollected herself, and checking the tide of sensibilty, hastily turned the discourse to other topics. From that day, the deportment of Bartolini increased in its attraction, not only to Francois and Julie, but to their mother. In his rich character there was to be found some quality peculiarly pleasing to each of them; and his conversation insensibly took a different tone when he addressed them separately. This was not the result of studied politeness or of artifice, but the natural course of a benevolent and delicate spirit, which ever was happy to contribute to the enjoyment of others in the mode they best liked, and was equally acute in perceiving how far its own feelings were capable of being comprehended or relished by those to whom they were displayed. Thus, with Francois, Bertolini was often playful, and always delighted with his gaiety; with Madame St. Hypolite he was speculative and serious, unfolding the vast volume of a mind that seemed to have been every action by principle and reason; with Julie be abandoned himself to subjects of taste, and of the heart, and while conversing with her, he proved distinctly to the listening Madame St. Hypolite, that suffering had been his instructor, and that the early maturity of his mind had been dearly bought by care and disappointment. Bertolini's countenance sparkled with animation while she spoke; Julie read in its eloquent brightness the delight of a man ardent and benevolent, who suddenly discovers in another a sympathy of warm and amiable feeling."I hope," said he with graceful he sitation," that the extraordinary circum-early habituated to reflect on, and to regulate stances of our acquaintance, the mutual bond of good offices on each side (on mine indeed but a solitary act), authorizes me to abaudon myself to a species of romantic frankness. confess, therefore, that I feel assured I shall no longer regret the absence of some far distant friends, when your society and that of Mademoiselle St. Hypolite is added to the Chevalier's. I have scarcely an acquaintance in France; my friends are in Italy." He pronounced the last words with a sigh, and his resemblance to Solerno was so striking at that moment, that it became a species of delusion. Madame forgot that her son had told her he was of Venice, and said with great emotion :"Your family are then too distant for us to afford you the gratification of having them near you. Naples is indeed very remote." "Naples! repeated Bertolini, with evident Burprise and agitation; "the friends I allude to are of Venice. Family, I have none; I have a home, indeed; but no father, no mother, no sit r, or brother; no tender tie, in short, to sweeten the bitter cup of life."He was paler than death while he spoke, and paused a while to recover his voice, then resuming with a forced gaiety, he added, "I This conviction increased the prepossesion she had conceived for her guest, from his re. semblance to her former friend, and while she earnestly sought to secure the friendship of such a man for her less experienced son, she was careful to guard her daughter from the effects of too lively an admiration of what was indeed admirable. For this purpose, Madame early contrived to impress Julie with the idea that Bertolini's evident sadness, arose from some attachment in his own country; and Julie, accustomed to consider him as one whose affections were engaged, but who was probably unhappy in his love, thought not for a moment of loving him herself; while, in fact, her whole heart was becoming filled with such a mixed sentiment of tender pity and enthusiastic admiration, that it scares found room for any other sentiment. Bertolini excelled in music and design, and though he could not yet awake the harp or guitar of Julie, he was able to draw, and to pass his mornings in that delightful occupation with Francois, while Madame worked, and Julie occasionally read aloud, or practised the music of the day. The social party were one morning seated together, thus pleasantly occupied, when Guiseppe (the servant of Bertolini), entered with a letter for his master. Madame was seated near a window embroidering some silk, and Francois was beside her for the advantage of the light in copying a miniature. Bertolini and Julie were together, at a table where he had been giving her some instructions in painting a flower. As he took the letter from Guiseppe, and glanced on the handwriting, he turned pale, and broke off what he was saying, with an air of trouble and distraction. Julie observed this, but wishing to avoid embarrassing him further, appeared not to notice his manner. For the first time since their acquaintance she saw herself an object of solicitude to Bertolini; her eyes were downcast, yet as she occasionally turned them from her drawing to its exemplar, a hasty glance made her behold his uneasiness. Bertolini had laid down the letter, and for a few mo ments seemed uncertain whether to open it or not; his colour frequently changed; sometimes he put his hand on the cover, then withdrew it, then looked anxiously and earnestly on her, then suddenly withdrew his eyes, and looked down with a saddened air. A calm observer would have seen in this the delicate repugnance of a man to read before one in whom he was deeply interested, a letter which being likely to agitate him, might cause, perhaps, false or too just conjectures of its nature, to arlse in the mind of the person who witnessed it. Julie was not that calm observer but she felt a confused impression of anxiety and fear, which she knew not how to explain to herself. At that moment she would have purchased a knowledge of the contents of that letter by any sacrifice short of honour or life. It still lay unopened before Bertolini ; she rose with an irresolute and timid air; "My presence is a restraint on you, Signor," she said. Bertolini eagerly prayed her to stay, and hastily put the letter aside, as if willing to renew their drawing lesson. "You will make me think your correspondent is particularly interesting to you," she resumed with a forced smile; "overacted indifference rarely effects its purpose: Burely then, Signor Bertolini, you had better No. XIX. Vol. III.-N. S. shew the natural eagerness to read a friend's letter." Bertolini's fine eyes sunk beneath the unusually penetrating glance of Julie's; he stifled a sigh, and retook the letter. Julie received the action as a confession that she had judged rightly, and with an emotion of sudden and violent pain, she hastily retired from the apartment. With a rapidity for which there was no cause she hurried into the gardens of the chateau, and, as if anxious to reach some spot where interruption was unlikely, struck into a division called the labyrinth. The trees were so thick and irregularly planted here, and the place so solitary, that she felt consoled by their shelter, and slackening her pace, allowed herself to think-hitherto she had only felt; and those feelings were as new as perplexing. She fancied herself strangely out of humour; but what had occasioned it?--Bertolini's conduct respecting the letter had nothing offensive in it to her; at most it was but silly, and she had unfairly taken it for granted that his correspondent was a dear friend, when it might be simply an acquaintYet what meant his extreme agitation? Certainly that he expected to be moved by the letter; but even so, the emotion he anticipated might be of a distressing nature, and he acted naturally then, in wishing to defer reading what he knew would afflict him. All this was so simple aud probable, that Julie wondered it had not struck ber before; she wondered still more at her feeling hurt on the first idea of his having a correspondent capable of agitating him thus. Did she then envy that person their influence over his mind?-Ah, yes! if it were not exerted for his happiness. Who would not envy the person that had such an influence? ance. Quite satisfied with this explanation of her feelings, Julie had nothing to lament but her precipitate, and perhaps, uncivil observation of Bertolini's endeavour to appear composed when she saw he was otherwise. The more she reflected, the more she was ashamed of her indiscretion, and trembled to think of re-appearing before the man whose refined and delicate courtesy must make him peculiarly sensible to this breach of it in another. What apology might she employ? sho thought that the true one would be a sudden fit of peevishness; yet she felt it impossible to say why she was peevish; except, indeed, that believing Bertolini superior to any dissimulation, and this slight affectation had vexed her by proving the fallibility of her judgment; but while she meditated owning Hh |