EDITORS' TABLE. COLONEL THORN'S FANCY BALL AT PARIS.-The grand Car nival Ball given by this distinguished American Aristocrat, has for some time past, engrossed much attention. Through the kindness of our attentive correspondent, "Cora," we are enabled to lay before our readers a description of this grand Bal Costume. Its accuracy can be relied upon, as it is given by a lady, who was among the few Americans invited to participate in the festivities of this magnificent fête. We are rejoiced to learn that our correspondent has so far recovered from her late illness as to resume her tour on the continent. PARIS, 3d, MARCH, 1840. "Of all the magnificent entertainments which Paris has, this season, witnessed, the Bal Costume given at the residence of Colonel Thorn, on the second night of the Carnival, for sumptuous splendor and concentrated variety of amusements, bears away the palm. I know you will expect from me a description of what is avowedly indescribable, and I will endeavor to please you, by transmitting an imperfect sketch of that which it gave me so much pleasure to behold. Long before the palace-like mansion of Colonel Thorn could be reached, the interminable line of elegant equipages, with their coronets and coats of arms, the liveried coachmen in front, and fancifully dressed chasseurs behind, announced what guests would grace his entertainment. On approaching the hotel, some fifty gens d' arms, well mounted, guarded the brilliantly illumined and spacious court yard, while the large canopied porch, and whole front of the mansion were thronged by the attendant domestics of the visitors. Alighting, you were received by some twenty footmen, and ushered into an antechamber, the centre of which is occupied by the, at present, fashionable ornament, a handsome billiard table. Passing through this apartment, you are loudly announced in the splendid reception room, where, richly attired, stands the ever graceful and affable Hostess, whose very smile makes welcome and whose courteous greeting sheds ease on all around. Twelve gorgeous saloons were thrown open on the occasion of this fête, which you would have said the genius of luxury, taste and comfort had united to adorn; where the uncouth door once had been, costly drapery was suspended, tastefully gath drawn in the centre of the apartment, was the magic boundary not to be passed; but the throng around it was inconceivably dense, until the sound of horses feet was heard, when all with one accord drew back, as four fairy steeds, mounted by cinderella postillions, drawing a queen-mab chariot of crimson velvet, twice around the ring, and halting, a pair of lovely sheperdesses, with golden wheels, followed by two beautiful little pages, flew placing their flower-wreathed crooks upon the ground, sprang lightly from either side, and as the car and its out riders disappeared, moved gracefully round in a fanciful pas de deux, amidst the noisy plaudits of admiring spectators; who carelessly elevated themselves on sofas and couches, sometimes three or four crowding together on the small and delicately shaped chairs, at the imminent risk of losing their balance; while the host of crushed unfortunates on tiptoe behind, clinging to those raised by chance (as so often happens in the world) above them, made extremely perilous the position of both parties, thus adding much to the excitement, and according to the rule that pleasure is enriched by sharing with her sister pain, to the enli joyment of the scene. The pretty sheperdesses after finishing their graceful evolutions, were put to flight by the entrance of some fifteen or twenty Turks, knights and highlanders on horseback, who after going through a ludicrous contredanse, galloped noiselessly away, amidst peals of merriment, which must have drowned the trampling of their horses feet, for strange to say none was heard. Then entered Madame Pompadouri, Louis XV, and his court, with their powdered wigs, and magnificent jewelled robes, who performed with much spirit the old fashioned dances of their age, amongst which the stately curtsying minuet, called forth the most unbounded applause. It were in vain to attempt a description of the series of dances, in character, which followed; each and all were executed with mingled taste and skill, and at their close the giddy waltz and gay quadrille were going merrily through by the society in general; and brigands flew round encircling their fair captives, christians unmolested stole the pride of the Turkish harem, and sheperdesses looked happy with lords. When dancing had tired the unwilling feet of many an enraptured fair one, the droll queries of a strolling manager, and pertinently stupid answers of his clown, forming a set of enigmas or charades, gratefully varied the diversions, but, as some rhymer says: ered in folds or festoons; the carpets of velvet, the divans, ottomans and couches, were all that could be imagined of luxurious and beautiful; the walls fluted with gold or rich silks, and hung "When with dancing and laughter the body is fed, with the works of the first masters; the ceilings painted in a "Say, why should the spirit go famished to bed?" thousand devices. One apartment raised above the others, nor famished in a more sensual sense were any that night; for overlooked the ball room and was lined with a row of draperied besides a handsome supper table filled with confectionary, which arches, from which the dancers were reviewed to the greatest was accessible the whole evening, a little past midnight, the advantage, their light forms reflected in the bright mirrors rich curtains which concealed a spacious apartment, were thrown opposite, which covered one entire side of the dancing apart-back, and disclosed the most sumptuous banqueting board, ment. The thousand lights shed a flood of brilliancy which spread with every delicacy that could gratify the palate or would almost have eclipsed sunshine, and the sparkling of dia-satisfy the appetite; heavy with the service of gold, bright monds and many colored gems, profuse as though mines had sprung beneath the feet of the fair ones that wore them, threw a lustre around almost painfully dazzling. And the varied, the charming, the voluptuously beautiful costumes! when fashion, whose rigorous sway, clothes the hunchback, and the sylph in the same garb, forsook her throne; what taste, what art, were expended to set forth every grace, and show beauty robed in each native charm, heightened by adornments, which only displayed what they seemed intended to conceal. There were sultans and sultanas, queens and courtiers, knight templers, and ladies in tournament robes; the goddess of night wrapped in her glittering silver stars, and the crescent on her fair brow, one bed of diamonds; naiads and nymphs of the woods, Anna Boleyn, Madame Pompadouri, even Joan of Arc herself, forsook the rude field to enjoy the soft pleasures of these princely halls; costumes of every form, and every clime, "of every land where woman smiles or sighs." It would have employed the eyes of Argus to have scanned them all, and other orbs had but short space; for soon as the midnight hour arrived, the swell of music stole upon the ear from the exquisite band of fifty musicians, and a general rush was made to the ball room, until then unopened. A large circle with the dazzling radiancy of costly candelabras, and the mellow light of moonlight lamps, which lined the gilded walls, rich with such ornaments as the genius of Paris alone could execute; the table itself so spacious and long, that reflected in the large mirror at its foot, the eye refused to reach its further end. When graced on either side by "fair woman," who seemed to have been gathered from every land, lovely relics of every age, to view this noble feast; relieved by the back ground of “brave men," like the setting to jewels; what more splendid sight could be imagined? The morning had far advanced before the courteous host and hostess found their banquet halls deserted; it proved indeed: "No sleep 'till morn, when youth and pleasure meet, To chase the glowing hours with flying feet." But a gayer festival, with more agremens and less alloy to the general enjoyment, may seldom again be witnessed. It was the moon that puts out the twinkling of all other planets. CORA. N. B. The cost of this Ball is currently estimated at eight thousand dollars. One lady present wore so many diamonds (said to be valued at two hundred thousand dollars) that she was escorted in her carriage by gen d' arms for fear of robbery' NEW YORK, JUNE, 1840. MARY OF MANTUA. A CHAPTER IN HER HISTORY. By the tomb of her departed mother, now dead for many years, stood the lovely girl, celebrated in story as Mary of Mantua. She had gone out, at twilight, amid the ruins of the ancient chapel of her ancestors, to muse at that holy time, and to chaunt a few simple strains from a book that had charmed her soul by the tender melancholy of its music, and the gentle spirit of its poetry. She was an orphan, and, although her uncle and aunt had heedfully prepared her youth for the realities of womanhood, yet she had learned, that love maternal and paternal can never be replaced by any friendship or kindness, however strong or sincere. She had felt, too,|| how necessary it is for every one to rely upon the spirit within for counsel and guidance in this working-day world-she had thrown by, almost entirely, the dreamlike visions of girlhood, and began to discern through the shadowy vista of the future, the uncertain path, which, if she lived, it was her destiny to traverse. In a neighboring convent had she been educated, and now that the Duchy of Mantua was in confusion, consequent upon the claiments for the succession, which was warmly disputed by the friends of several pretenders in Lombardy, she had been instructed that she must be prepared to sustain the position which rightfully was hers. It was the tomb of her mother which she had sought, we say, as much for the hope of being guided by truth, as to beguile her melancholy of those pangs, which, assuaged in a degree, leave the spirit a twilight of the soul as soft and soothing as is that of an Italian summer. As Mary was concluding the last stanza of a song, which finished with the lines, "The hopes, the passions which life shall disclose, the sentiment of the poet was received with a deeper impression than otherwise would have been the case, for she saw the petals of the flower, which she had placed in her bosom an hour before, falling, one by one, upon the tomb, where she had placed the book from which she was gathering melodies for her memory; and she heard, too, the step of some one approaching with stealth through the ruins, so that she turned her head, almost involuntary, to the spot whence the noise seemed to proceed, not anticipating that she should discover, as she soon did, the form of an interesting stranger by her side! The calm and contemplative character of her countenance, was rather the result of what had passed, than of that which was now passing through her mind; yet the stranger, deeming he perceived an inquiry in her|| look, rebuking himself for his boldness, at the same time, spoke to the lady in such gentle accents, that she could not find any cause for displeasure. Nay, she bade him to make known his errand, for the tones of his voice indicated the friendliness of his intentions, while his eyes were filled with a sincere and earnest meaning which strangely attracted her attention. There was something noble in his aspect and bearing, although his dress was that of a student, and his face of that paleness which bespeaks that the mind is more exercised than the body. Still, there was strength slumbering in his wellshaped limbs and frame; and his lips, when in repose, were curved so as to be the tokens of a decision and energy of character which had not otherwise been apparent except under different circumstances. "Mary of Mantua," said the stranger, "you are sum moned to-morrow, as you already know, to attend upon the new Duke, Vincenzo, the faithless priest, the wed ded cardinal!" "Too well I know it," breathed the gentle girl. "Three princes contend for your hand," he continued, "the first, Vincenzo, Duke of Mantua." "What, my uncle?" ejaculated Mary. "Truly," replied the stranger; "but listen: the next is Ferrand, Prince of Guastella-the third, Charles, Duke of Rhetel." "The second I abhor," said Mary-"the last is the son of my dead father's enemy." The stranger smiled, and as several members of the household were approaching the ruins, he hastily said: "Mary of Mantua, against these three princes a simple gentleman, nobly born, dares to contend for thee. Enough! To-morrow, as you go to the city, take not the common road, but turn to the left at the Perrotti vineyard; the Prince of Guastella is in the territory, and may attempt to seize you. Mind my counsel, and if danger be near, there will be shields to protect you. Farewell." Thus having spoken, he quickly departed, and the agitated Mary returned to her chamber, where she passed the night in a state of wakefulness, from which sleep would not take her. She thought of the stranger and of her situation, and she decided to follow his advice, for already the flame of a soft emotion had kindled in her bosom. On the morrow, she departed for Mantua, but while directing the postillion to take the by-road, a party of horsemen rapidly approached on the main road, which she no sooner perceived than she suspected their design. She was alarmed for a moment, but the appearance of another party plunging through a wood, the gallant stranger foremost, allayed her fears, and while a short but animated skirmish was taking place, the result of which she could not ascertain, the carriage rolled safely along until it arrived at the court-yard of her uncle's abiding-place. She had not seen the Duke Vincenzo for many years, and, very naturally, she had erroneously imagined his person as ill-favored as she knew his character to be despicable. The interview gave to the married and aged Duke more hope than he had anticipated, and he now thought his divorce from his wife only procured, and a dispensation obtained, that his brother's child would become his bride, and thus for ever set at rest all the contending claims on Mantua and Montferrat. Having been informed of the attack upon the carriage, the Duke ordered an extra guard to attend Mary back to her uncle Ferdinand, having informed her that as soon as the divorce should be granted, the new nuptials should take place. Mary's gentle manner had deceived him. She at heart preferred death to such wedlock. A day after her return home, when she stood again at the tomb of her mother, at the evening hour, came the stranger. Long and tender was the communion of those two souls, and when he departed, not again to see Mary for three months, then, for the first time, did the girl know that she deeply loved, and a melancholy stole upon her spirit, from which, in vain, she endeavored to be free. He had promised, nay, he had sworn, in three months, to a day, to the hour, to make Mary his bride or die. Three months passed away, and all fears of the nuptials with the old Duke were at an end, for Vincenzo was on his death-bed, and Mary at his castle, by the Duke's orders, was to be given in marriage to the young Duke of Rhetel, son of the Duke of Nevero, the next heir to the coronet of Mantua, for it was the best policy -that guide of governments-that all claims to that duchy and Montferrat, should unite in one race. The young Duke was already in Mantua, to add to the pangs of the unhappy Mary, and she resolved rather to die than to yield herself to one whom she had never seen, and was bound not to love. On a cloth of gold, upon an immense couch, lay the dying Duke Vincenzo, who now gave orders that if Mary would not willingly, she must by force be united to the Duke of Rhetel. In the adjacent hall, Mary heard the directions, and she now only hoped to save herself from the sacrifice, by an appeal to the honor of the knight. If that failed, she had a more desperate safeguard. While the door of the great hall stood ajar, she heard a gentle voice, saying, "Let me speak to her," and presently came forth a man arrayed in splendid garments. Mary but looked in his face: 66 'Why came you not before?" she cried, and fell upon his breast. "Listen, Mary," he said, "even now the turret clock tells the hour! Thy cousin, Charles of Gonzaga— is here. Thou art his bride, or he dies. Thou shalt love him-the Duke of Rhetel." The confiding Mary of Mantua leaned upon his arm, and, followed by the attendants, entered the hall, at the end of which an altar had been placed for the nuptial ceremony, and the happy pair were united. There was a death and a bridal in that hour. I. C. P. PREJUDICE is an equivocal term, and may as well mean right opinions taken upon trust, and deeply rooted in the mind, as false and absurd opinions so derived, and grown into it.-Hurd. Original. THE WIDOWED BRIDE. BY CAROLINE ORNE. SOFTLY the evening shadows fell, Perched on the tall elm's topmost limb, Oh, why, on such an eve as this, Bright, leafy June, that made her bride, The broken links of Love's bright chain? |