CHAPTER IX.

December' 27.
M R. and Mrs. C. H. McCormick entertained their friends last evening at the Grand Hotel, and sev- eral hours were agreeably disposed of in dancing, music, and in listening to recitations by Mrs. Leigh Ward. The daughters of Dr. Sims sang very artistically, as did also the grand-daughters of Governor McDowell, of Virginia. The beautiful hostess dispensed the hospitali- ties with the most charming grace, appearing from time to time among her guests at the round tables , and was pronounced by all, the radiant light of the golden circle.
This bright day, with a touch of frosty cold, betokens a return of good weather, and we rejoice that our appeal to Old Sol to come again in his glory has at last been heard.
December 28. — The necessities of the poor have not been overlooked in these festive days. A Fair for the benefit of the suffering Poles in Paris, took place to day at the Hotel Lambert, the residence of the Countess Dzialynska, nee Princess Czartoryska. This lady is at the head of the society that befriends these indigent exiles, and most generously does she throw open her palace, rich in art and splendor, adding thereto the
Digitized by VnOOQlC
BUBBLES AND BALLAST.
165
fragrance of a deed of charity. Some of the most dis- tinguished women in Paris presided at the tables, which lined the long gallery ; and a few fair Americans assisted in a salon adjoining, the varied and tasteful display of their fancy articles bringing good prices from ready purchasers. This table was under the direction of Mrs. Dix. The historical associations of the Hotel Lambert made the visit one to be desired. It was there that Napoleon in 1815 held a last conference with his minis- ter, M. de Montalivet, when reverses had so multiplied that all seemed lost; and there Voltaire lived, and with his brilliant genius planned la Henriade . It was also the abode of Lambert de Thorigny, an opulent President of the Parliament of the 17th century, and the residence of the financiers, Dupin and Delahaye. The entrance is remarkable for its staircase, and the beautiful scroll-work of its balustrade; and the tout ensemble of the grand edi- fice reflects glory upon the name of Levau. The salons abound in profuse ornamentation of gilding and paint- ing, the fame of the great painters Lebrun and Lesueur speaking from the ceilings, and being handed down in such verse as —
“ Lesueur, Le Bran, ces illustres Appeles Ces rivaux de l'antiquit^,
- Out eu ce lieu charmant, 6taU la beaut6 De leurs peintures immortelles.’ '
Ere we left the cheerful scene within doors, the moon had risen in all her brightness, and our drive in an open carriage did not prove uncomfortable, notwithstanding it was December, far advanced. The situation of the
Digitized by VnOOQlC
166
BUBBLES AND BALLAST.
Hotel Lambert is in the Rue St. Louis en Pile. The river gives a picturesque appearance to that portion of the city; and at various points along the banks, a spirit of life, and active trade are manifest. There are venders of papers and books, some of the latter looking as if they had been printed a century ago, — then, jutting out from the embankments are bath-houses; swimming-schools for ladies and gentlemen ; and the Lavoirs with their busy blanchisseuses . The Seine impresses one also sadly, as it recalls many unhappy lives given to its flood — a favorite mode of suicide of the Freuch people, who court life in the hey-day of fortune and pleasure, and cast it away when the clouds of adversity gather.
December 29. — Under bright sunshine, and with heart cheered by the receipt of letters — whose crumpled pages were hastily consigned to a pocket — I repaired to the American Episcopal church. Some fair hand had pre- pared a beautiful Christmas garb, green scriptural texts adorning the walls and the altar. From out of the dark cedar and glossy holly-leaves, peered a single star, the emblem of hope, love and redemption. As in ages past it directed the wise men of the east, so does it now lead the ignorant to the shining road, scattering the mist from unbelieving eyes, and giving to troubled souls the promise,
“That not unto the highest, here The highest place is given ;
But they who serve below, may wear The starry crown in Heaven.”
On my return home I found Hon. and Mrs. Tlios.
Digitized byCnOOQlC
BUBBLES AND BALLAST.
167
H. Davis, of New York. Mr. D. has the sympathy of numerous friends in the late illness which nearly terminated his life — his remarkable fortitude winning the admiration of many besides his surgeons. May he live long to be an ornament to his profession and coun- try! Mrs. D. is a brilliant conversationalist. Her description of Italy makes it a “ golden dream — the vision of all that is lovely and fair.”
December 31. — New Year’s eve ! The pen is inclined to make a slow and solemn movement as it traces these words ; for are we not about to leave the beaten track of a twelve-month’s journey for an untried pathway, — to launch our barques upon a new tide, yet to learn whether we shall be “care-worn or pleasure-bound ? ” Stepping thus upon the threshold of a new year, the remembrances of old pleasures will linger, and we press fondly the withered bouquet of those joys, as if to extract all the perfume that remains. I have recently parted with the sweetest young rose-bud of all the American colony, — little Bessie Scholey, modestly answering to the choicest type of beauty, with her tender-lighted eyes, soft brown in hue, fair skin, and hair of golden chestnut. I have locked her up in my heart with the recollection of her rare intelligence, her gentle manner and affectionate ca- resses, and wonder if she will ever come to me again, except in memory. We feel like saying with a sigh, as we lose the charm of a fair face, or other delights —
41 Ah ! well-a-day !
Life leaves us so.
Love dare not stay.
Sweet things decay.”
Digitized by VnOOQlC
168
BUBBLES AND BALLAST.
* * * * * The midnight chimes are just now an- swering to the dirge-like command of England’s poet —
“ Ring out, wild bells, across the sky,
The year is dying in the night — ”
Out of this death will there not come a good angel, to guide our feet into new and pleasant mysteries ?
January 1, 1868. — The Parisians celebrate this day as we do Christmas, there being a free interchange of kindly sentiment, gifts, etc. Of the American residents, a few followed the custom of keeping “open house,” and offering cheer to friends and acquaintances. The visiting hours, cut short by twilight’s dusky shadows, embraced the usual incidents, — a bit of mock idolatry to bright eyes over a glass of egg-nog; saucy speeches — only that and nothing more — from some who are straight- laced on all other days than this; a bon-mot and a bless- ing religiously bestowed by a gray-haired sire, who may have dropped a silent tear last night at the ghostly hour of twelve, feeling that life, with him, was slipping away like the years ; a sparkling verse and witticisms, that will make memorable the author and the beautiful object who received it naively — her blushes deepening to the ruby of the glass ; — light and capricious things to drive seriousness from the hours. This is a day for the belle to wear her sweetest smile and finest robe, and for that belle’ 8 mamma to think with pride of the flower-strewn path her daughter treads ; — a day for beaux , new kids, and a sanssouci air, — in a word, a day for every one to rest in a shadow no darker than the couleur de rose , and to weave out of it bright dreams and hopes for the future.
Digitized by VnOOQlC