No. 332.

OF FASHION,

FROM OUR FRENCH CORRESPONDENT.

BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS, July 28th, 1858. CHERE AMIE,-The warmth of the weather has made barèges and tarlatans the most favourite materials for toilettes; the form of body varies with the kind of dress required, sometimes high, lined with white silk, and very small basques Medici, sometimes plissé, with wide ceinture of taffetas with long ends; they are also made low, with a fichu crossing, and trimmed with a bouillon and lace; barèges are made with two deep very full flounces, simply hemmed; some have the mantelet of the same. A dress of printed muslin, in pale green designs, was with two flounces, and muslin shawl of the same, with frills; this is new and pretty, and varies the mantelet form, so long worn. Some tarlatan dresses, with double skirts, have the upper one trimmed with three large bouillons, with lilac ribbon through, and a narrow ribbon is also run through the two small headings of the bouillons, which is new, and has a pretty effect; the sleeves are with jockey, also trimmed with bouillon, as well as the top of the body, which is high. In dull or rainy weather black silk dresses are worn with double skirts, the upper one having a border of Scotch plaid; the novelty and elegance of this style consists in the size of the plaid, sleeves à ballous, trimmed to correspond, and jockeys of plaid; pointed body with small revers; the same style may be adopted with a plain colour instead of plaid.

The travelling mania at this period of the season calls for toilettes of simplicity; large casaques, with skirts of white jean sprigged with small flowers, pink, blue, or lilac; English barèges, with double skirts or flounces of quiet colours, not making any show; mantelet châle of muslin or of black taffetas; straw bonnets with ribbon trimmings, sometimes mixed with black, or trimmed with a network of coloured guimpe, for morning toilettes. Nankin is useful when the weather is chilly, embroidered in the same colour; brandenbourgs and cuffs embroidered; long and wide, ceinture with the noeuds drooping on the skirt; in checks, red and black, black and green, black and white, etc.; the ribbon very wide. Bareges, mousselines de soie, etc., are with full bodies and wide ceintures; some are low, and have various styles of trimming; a wide ribbon from the shoulders, trimmed with white lace; the ribbon descends as a fichu, or crosses behind, the two ends falling as a ceinture; another of similar style was instead of ribbon, of the same material as the dress; this is, perhaps, newer and more fashionable. Some low bodies are made with fichu berthe of the material of the dress, with ruched frills trimmings, or the sleeves to match. Under-sleeves of plain muslin, with plain wristbands, are those preferred at present; a kind of half open one, with trimmings of point d'Alençon, is worn in evening, or for demie toilette.

For full dress tulle is much used, in small embroidered stars of ponceau, chenille, or sea green; others of white tulle, with triple skirt, have the upper one trimmed with a thick ruche of crape, in two shades of green. Tulle dresses are made very full, and some have six flounces, also very full, trimmed with small ruches of blonde. There is not much novelty in the make of dresses at this late period of the season; barèges are still with flounces or double skirts, flounces are preferred; high bodies are generally adapted with very small basques, or pointed: the sleeves with frill, pagodas, or bouillons, confined by ruches or deep flounces.

The toilettes of little girls are very pretty just now; their frocks of embroidered cambric muslin; the body trimmed with ruche of Valenciennes lace and short bouffantes sleeves, with short boots of morocco, red, blue, or green, according to the colour of the ribbon ceinture, with large houd of Scotch plaid; round hats for very young ladies; burnous of white muslin, with choux of pink or blue taffetas; many of the frocks of barège are with double skirts; nankin, white jean, also some with small designs in blue; the body ornamented with blue galons and brandenbourgs; wide sleeves with braid and grelots.

It is necessary to explain what is meant by la rose imperatrice (the imperial rose) now used in coiffures and bonnets, of which it sometimes forms the sole ornament; it is a flower placed in the centre of the forehead, and, with or without blonde, at the sides of the face; the imperial rose is also used in coiffures, sometimes placed in the centre

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which it enlarges on the forehead; it derives its appellation by frequently being worn by the Empress on the forehead, but it does not necessarily imply that it should be only a rose; a bunch of cornflowers, stocks, etc., are often worn thus; it simply implies a bouquet of any description, forming an elevation on the forehead, roses and camelias are preferred as more easily giving the desired effect.

Another pretty fashion has been introduced by the Empress on high bodies; a wide black velvet is crossed as a cravat, having noeud but no ends, trimmed with white lace, forming frill; the lace should not extend beyond the centre of the body; sleeves with wristbands may have a similar ornament.

The Burnous, or taffetas shawl, will continue fashionable all the summer, with trimming à la Vielle; many of white muslin are with ruche bouillonnée, in which is a pink or lilac ribbon; the hood to correspond, with large noeud of ribbon. Many shawls are seen of muslin, trimmed with hemmed frills, but during the very warm weather scarfs of the lightest description have been very much worn, many the same as the dress, but gauze, tarlatane, and every variety are seen; all have the noeud and ends in the centre of the back, drawing the scarf a little lower on the back.

Cock's feathers are much used for bonnets, some of Leghorn or paille de riz are with white and red feathers, red and black, all white, gold colour, etc. The styles of bonnets are too various to enumerate; the Valois, Marie Antoinette, Mary Stuart are for the youthful, particularly the Marie Antoinette, which differs in form from all the others; it does not close under the chin, rounds off at the cheeks and ears, noeuds of taffetas are placed on the rounded front, and a small blonde cap tied under the chin, keep it firmly on the head; the brides hang loosely. A bonnet of paille de riz was trimmed with cerise and black ribbon, plaited to form wreath; the plait should be very full, not at all tightened, and rather bouffante; bavolet of cerise and black, and a rose on the forehead.

In Paris the straw bonnets are much ornamented with black, mixed with colours; sometimes the ribbons are white, with stripes of pink, green, or lilac; on pailles de riz flowers are usually used; some capotes are made half green taffetas and half straw, the crown soft; there is always great variety observable in the trimmings. A paille Belge was made with soft crown, on which fell a black lace; the fauchons, or resilles of black lace, are always in good taste on straw bonnets; the bavolets, and sometimes the noeuds, are edged by passepoils of colour.

DESCRIPTION OF THE ENGRAVINGS.

PLATE I.-Public Promenade Dress.-Robe of mousseline de soie, with double skirt; corsage with revers à basques; shawl of white tarlatane, trimmed with frill of embroidery. Bonnet of tulle, ornamented with ribbon.

Child's Dress.-Skirt of pink popeline, with trimming of ribbon in dice, forming border; jacket body of white popeline, open in front, with plissés of ribbon across the centre, and edging it all round; frill of white lace round the basque, and short sleeves. Hat of paille Belge, with double bouillon of taffetas encircling the crown.

Promenade Dress.-Robe of taffetas, with three flounces in large scollops, edged by a plissé of ribbon; basquine, closing with buttons; deep basque, scolloped as the flounces, and edged by a plissé; the sleeves of the bell form, corresponding in trimming, and jockeys of plissé. Bonnet of white crape, with red carnations at the side, and single one over the centre of the forehead; the style termed la rose imperatrice (see our French correspondent's letter).

PLATE II.-Carriage Dress.- Robe of taffetas of the redingote form, closing up the front, under a biais, with buttons and bands of velvet on both skirt and body; the upper part of the sleeve is plain, with a single deep bell in scollops, and band of velvet in each; under sleeves lace. Bonnet of white crape, with fauchon of tulle, edged by a ribbon ruche.

Young Lady's Dress.-Robe of embroidered muslin, trimmed with three flounces; open body with basque, trimmed with two frills headed by a bouillon of ribbon, and a fichu composed of the same ornaments

ribbon, guimpe of muslin, with ruche of tulle. Hat of brown straw, with feathers; nœuds of black velvet, with long streamers.

Walking Dress.- Robe of violet taffetas, with three flounces, each being edged by black velvet; basquine trimmed with velvet and closing with buttons. Bonnet of straw and taffetas, with soft crown. Mantelet of black silk trimmed with fringe.

PLATE III.-Dinner Dress.-Skirt of taffetas, with moutants at each side in taffetas chicoreé; white casaque, ornamented with trimming to match; bouillon sleeves, with frill and small jockey. Coiffure of hair in ringlets.

Carriage Dress.-Robe of grenadine, and pardessus of taffetas, trimmed with bands of velvet; the body part ornamented en brandenbourgs. Bonnet of paille de riz, trimmed with lace and feathers.

Child's Dress.-Frock of barege, with double skirt; the upper one open at the sides, and joined by cords and buttons; the body is of a square form, and double point at the waist, with buttons and cord up the centre; the sleeves of two small bouillons, and deep full bell, trimmed with fringe, with under ones of white tarlatan in large bouillons. Hat of white crin and straw with wreath.

PLATE IV. Bonnet of white crinoline, ornamented with black beads and black lace, with bunches of berries on each side.

Second ditto of purple satin, trimmed with white and black blonde ; corn flowers and long grass.

Pelerine of tulle and white satin ribbon, with a bouquet of petunias and scarlet geranium flowers.

SUMMER.

WHEW! how awfully-how unmercifully hot it is! The intolerant sun, with an eye like molten brass, glares fiercely on his poor, perspiring victim, man, who hies in all directions to shady coverts, cellars, sylvan arbours, ice-houses, or any sort of retreat, natural or artificial, that promises a shelter from his sultry foe. It is noonday, and the enemy triumphantly lords it over earth and heaven, flaring and glaring upon the unfortunate plants and shrubs, who shrivel up their leaves, droop their heads, and bear his hot assaults as best they may, until the cooling dews and blessed breeze of evening comes to renovate their shrunken frames. How still is all around! The cattle recline mute and motionless in the shade; the birds are silent in the hedge; and there is not a sound, save the occasional hum of pestiferous insects, born of the solar beam for the sustenance of swallows, and the plague and torment of all other created things. A drowsy listlessness seizes body and mind, and a horror of locomotion pervades your every thought. What are now the boasted sports of the field-the spirit-stirring joys of the chase? Revolting images of toil and sweat. What the whilom pleasant canter, or lively drive? Things to be abhorred even in imagination. You do not even wish your "direst foe" worse than a seat on a rough-trotting horse, going fourteen miles an hour along a hard, dusty, glistening turnpike. You take up a book-it is too hot to read; you open your lips to converse, but tire in the middle of a sentence. In fact, you are so completely nerveless and unstrung, that you could not go through with the veriest trifle imaginable-pay your debts or peruse the "Triumphs of Temper." In such weather, I will not tell you to be patient (the most aggravating thing man can be told), but follow your natural impulses, loll, roll, and tumble about for a few hours longer, until the enemy begins to slacken his fire: or better still, steal quietly away to the pleasant greenwood, and, "under the shade of melancholy boughs," forget for a while the heat and hubbub of active existence.

The last plan is especially to be recommended. It is perfectly delicious, on a sultry summer's day, to steal away to a sequestered nook in some antique wood, unto whose venerable trees some tiny brook "singeth a quiet tune," blending the gentle rippling of the waters with the still more gentle rustling of the leaves. It is like casting oil upon the waves; your temper mollifies, the irritation of your nerves subsides, and mind and body calm and cool simultaneously, as you luxuriously stretch yourself on the greensward beneath the shelter of some mighty oak, draw your hat partially over your face, and attune your mind to pleasant thoughts. You feel just in the temper to exclaim with the old poet, in his address to Melancholy

"Friends and companions, get ye gone!

'Tis my desire to be alone;

Ne'er well, but when my thoughts and I

Do domineer in privacy.

No gem, no treasure like to this

'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss!

All my joys to this are folly,

Nought so sweet as melancholy.

True, to look upon, you are a lumbering ungraceful lump of mortality.

Head-dress composed of white asters, forming a wreath across the head, fastened behind with a bow of black lace.

Second ditto of two twisted bands of pink, across the head, trimmed at the side with bunches of white convolvola blossoms, mixed with scarlet fuchsia.

Evening cap of white and black lace, trimmed with violet-coloured ribbon.

Second ditto of white blonde, trimmed with pink ribbon and black velvet.

Morning cap of pink tulle, trimmed with ribbon of the same colour, and brown violet.

Dress cap of green silk and tulle, trimmed with fringe and bugles, and ribbon to match.

White sleeve of jaconot, with a bow of blue satin ribbon. Second of muslin; trimmed with ruches of orange-coloured ribbon, edged with blonde.

DESCRIPTION OF MODEL.

The model we give is of the square body, consisting of three pieces; the back side pieces are the usual form, the front only being square these bodies are usually finished round with a plissée à la Vieille, and are worn with guimpes.

Yet how many delights is that apparently insensate log susceptible of, even as it lies! Man is a mysterious animal. There is a touch of the sublime about the creature, even in his inertness. Just as he lies there, what strange conceits, what wild fancies, may be busy at work beneath that ungraceful old hat! What dreams of poesy-half spontaneous, half reminiscent--may be passing through the head it hides! What gorgeous visions-what enthusiastic dreams, till the mind gradually becomes more and more oblivious; the stream flows more sweetly, the leaves rustle more gently, the gale sighs in a softer cadence, and the hum of the bee falls drowsily and yet more drowsily on the ear, until an abrupt, unequivocal snore, puts poesy to flight, startles the dryads, hamadryads, and other sylvan deities around, inharmoniously announcing that the palace-gates of the soul are closed.

'Tis evening! The sultry sun has gone to bathe in the huge Pacific, and pensive twilight steals timidly over copse and "hedgerow green." The amorous dove coos in the wood, and in manifold directions, groups of human turtles are seen gliding stealthily along from the more open country to contiguous dim obscurities, there to transact a little comfortable courtship. But what says the poet, ladies, to this sort of work?

"Ah now, ye fair!

Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts;
Dare not the infectious sigh; the pleading look
Downcast and low, in meek submission drest,
But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue,
Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,
Gain on your purposed will. Nor in the bower
Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch,
While evening draws her crimson curtains round,
Trust your soft moments with betraying man."

Tut the poet has made much ado about nothing. The greatest danger is of your catching cold from the evening damps. When your lover entertains you with talk of kisses, blisses, raptures, responsive souls, and other pleasant unintelligible jargon, all you have to do is to put on a Lucretia-looking countenance, and commence a series of inquiries respecting houses, furniture, pin-money, and other matters of practical import. It is perfectly wonderful how such a course will tranquillize his ardent passions, especially if he be of the small poetic tribe, who rarely mean what they say, more rarely know what they mean, and are generally gentlemen of excellent prospects without a sixpence. The bard of the Seasons, however, has hardly used you well; his advice is most impertinent. Doubtless the hearty confidence of a brother-poet, blithe Robie Burns, who understood these matters as well as most people, and much better than Mr. James Thomson, will be more in accordance with your taste.

"And sage experience bids me this declare

If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,

'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale."

Summer is the season of watering-places. The citizen's wife saith

unto the citizen, "Well! go I will-and there's an end of it!" The citizen thinketh to himself there is not an end of it, but he was born to obey, and go he must. Poor creature! heartily art thou to be pitied, even as a sensitive flower rudely transplanted to an uncongenial soil. He saw the sea yesterday, he sees it again to-day, and he will lie down at night with the uncomfortable assurance that to-morrow will again find him amid shells and weed, instead of mud and merchan. dize. Look at him just now! You would think he had taken root where he stands. Is it that he has fallen into a trance of admiration, gazing on the blue and boundless deep? No such thing. A doubt has for the last hour occupied his vacant mind, as to whether the advancing tide will reach his toes or not, and there he patiently stands to solve the problem. He rather inclines to the opinion that it will not. It approaches within six inches-wavers-and then visibly retreats. Hurrah! he is in the right! and he trudges along the hot, monotonous sand, in search of health and happiness, felicitating himself as he goes, on the most excellent guess he has made. Further up the beach is seen his evil genius-that is, his wife, glistening in sarsenet and armed with a parasol, industriously employed in collecting cockleshells and pebbles; whilst his eldest daughter, a child to whom he has ever behaved affectionately, repays his kindness by quoting to him Byron and others, on the magnificence of large bodies of salt water. Poor fellow! But, as the man says in the play," there is another and a better world!"

Despite of all its drawbacks, Summer is a pleasant season. Manifold are its delicious fruits and fragrant flowers, and lamb and green peas are more especially its own. Pleasant to the olfactory department is the odour of the new-mown hay, and doubly delicious to the arid palate, the draught of nut-brown ale. To say nothing of the glorious rising or going down of the sun, look how he is employed for our good throughout the live-long day; not with the merry though transient glance of Spring-not the waning smile of Autumn; but ardently, untiringly-ripening the fragrant orange, luscious melon, the almost too exquisite pine. Or what is more, pouring his fierce favours on the thousand hills of "vine-clad France "on the fruitful valleys of the glorious, the worshipped, the venerated Rhine-or the blooming banks of the blue Moselle, impregnating the glowing clusters of grapes with that mysterious juice, that has in all times and seasons been found a cordial for the heart of man-that nectarian draught, which, let the water-bibber say what he may, when quaffed in tolerable moderation, by people of generous spirits and clear consciences, exhilarates the inward man, breaks down the chilly barriers of worldly circumspection and restraint, and induces such a feeling of good-will and benignity to all created things, as is not to be obtained by swilling aqua pura by the gallon. But mightier quills have sung thy praise, O wine! Blessings on thee! and on the Summer sun that brings thee!

A VISIT TO SNOWDON.

THE landlady of the "Ship" tavern, in the secluded little town of Dolgelly, had set before us an excellent dinner, for which the mountain air had found us an appetite; but a glorious September sunset interrupted our paying it due honours. It was hard to be thus suspended as it were between a visual feast and one merely sensual-between a feast of the soul and the animal appetite; but so it was: and not feeling that utter absorption of soul and body within the circumference of a dinner plate which is said to be the distinguishing trait of aldermanic dignity, we every now and then arose to gaze upon the summits of the mountains that caught the last rays of the setting sun. Broad shadows were over the deep valley that embosoms the town, and here and there the grey autumn mists were stealing upwards, covering with gauzy vapour different portions of the landscape, until darkness enveloped all. We retired early to bed, our sound rest secured by two ascents of Cader Idris during the three previous days, made from a vale which is nowhere surpassed in the universe for its combination of beautiful scenery.

We rose at break of day. Who that knows what early rising is in such a country, and in summer, can sleep again after his first awakening? We summoned a car, a vehicle driven generally by a boy, and drawn by a hardy Welsh nag at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour. The bold resolution was then taken to reach Beddgelert to breakfast, and afterwards to ascend Snowdon on foot, and then go on to the ancient town of Caernarvon, which we were told it was "impossible" to do in one day; the very reason why we were the more eager to show how some words may be misused.

Cader Idris was covered with cloud, and the air was chill as we took

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of Wales and of England, for it is the loftiest mountain of both countries. We crossed the river Winion by a neat bridge, and turning to the left coasted a peninsula, well wooded; at the extreme point of which the Winion, flowing down the charming vale in which Dolgelly stands, unites its waters with the Maw, and both roll together along a picturesque valley until they reach the sea at Barmouth, ten miles lower. We crossed the Maw to get into the right road, which lay on its northern bank, passing over a second bridge. A church, beautifully situated, very small, and its cemetery exhibiting a fine yew tree, called Llanelltyd, rose immediately upon our right, at which point it intercepted for a moment a view of the river and shore beyond, which soon opening upon us, disclosed the ruins of an abbey, about a mile and a half from Dolgelly, called Kymmer Abbey, which was founded in 1198, by one Cynan ap Owen ap-we forget what other name. Only a part of the church remains entire. The abbot's lodging and refectory are built into a farm house. The east end is mantled with ivy, through which we could perceive three small windows. We observed, besides, two or three slender pointed arches. The quietude of the spot-the soft murmuring of the river in front-the grassy and wooded peninsula before mentioned-were of themselves a delicious combination of romantic and secluded beauty: but on raising the sight yet higher, ranges of dark fir trees appeared growing just over the town we had quitted; and beyond them lofty mountain ridges, covered with heath, which rose up to the foot of those vast precipices by which the mountain summit of Cader Idris is distinguished. The heaven was now clear, except one fleecy cloud that hung round the loftier summit called Pen-y-Gader, for Cader Idris has three peaks. We stopped to watch this cloud, resting like a white turban upon the brow of one of the giants, who are said to have inhabited the earth in antediluvian times. We waited in vain: the "night-cap," as the Welsh call such coronets of cloud-an association of their famed Welsh wigs, we suppose-did not mount away while we stayed, remaining perhaps for an hour or two afterwards, until this Goliah of hills was fully awake. The sight, however, was very striking, for we had observed it on two or three cloudless days previously. When the sun's rays had become sufficiently powerful, and no cloud was observable elsewhere, this grand turban of mist became condensed, and, ascending, discovered old Peny-Gader's brow, grey with ten thousand storms. Higher and higher it mounted, and sailed away, the solitary monarch-cloud of the heaven, in the direction of the wind, until no stain sullied the blue serene.

The driver of the car now put his Welsh pony upon its mettle, crying, "Chek, chek"-Welsh for "Go along," we imagine-and we proceeded through a valley down which the waters of the Maw rolled clear, but troubled and noisy, over a stony bottom. Beyond the river there were abrupt hills, and the same on the side upon which the road lay; with the difference that those on the left-hand side were rocks, sometimes precipitous and bare, at others covered with heath or scanty vegetation. This vale continued for several miles, and then opened upon an undulating, but comparatively level, country, which afforded a distant view of mountains towards the sea, partly cultivated on the sides, and generally of rounded forms;-some of these were above two thousand feet high. The landscape near the road ceased to be particularly interesting, except from the novelty of the view, which, though barren for the most part, bore a character of wildness that singularly impressed itself upon the mind. Thirteen miles' travelling brought us to Trawsfyngedd, a village in a very wild district, where everybody was up and moving as we passed through. Five miles further we reached Maentwrog-plunging rather than riding into a deep valley, one rocky side of which was covered with coppice whereever the roots of the trees could penetrate between the stony masses. This vale is more properly called the vale of Festiniog, which last village is situated at the upper end-the lower is bounded by the sea. Round one of the points abutting on the ocean is Harlech Castle, a noble ruin, said to have been founded in 350. The vale contains some excellent land. Plas Tan-y-Bwlch, the residence of the late Mr. Oakley, as well as an excellent inn of the same name on the northern side of the vale, are admirably situated. Here, without a moment's delay, we dismissed our Dolgelly pony and car, and, taking another, prepared to enjoy in the compass of the next hour some of the finest scenery of North Wales. Off we started for Beddgelert, through the far-famed mountain pass of Pont Aberglasslyn, a distance of nine miles. We had travelled about twenty already, and it was half-past eight o'clock. The calls of appetite were strong, but those of curiosity overcame them, although the inn at Tan-y-Bwlch looked most promisingly to one who had fasted amid the purest air, and was little inclined to be satisfied with "the contemplation of a feast."

The country became more mountainous on the eastern side of the