of being
selected as a godfather entails no trifling expense on the chosen. The
great prices given for wedding _trousseaux_ in France, even by those
who are not rich, surprise me, I confess.

They contain a superabundance of every article supposed to be necessary
for the toilette of a _nouvelle mariee_, from the rich robes of velvet
down to the simple _peignoir de matin_. Dresses of every description
and material, and for all seasons, are found in it. Cloaks, furs,
Cashmere shawls, and all that is required for night or day use, are
liberally supplied; indeed, so much so, that to see one of these
_trousseaux_, one might imagine the person for whom it was intended was
going to pass her life in some far-distant clime, where there would be
no hope of finding similar articles, if ever wanted.

Then comes the _corbeille de mariage_, well stored with the finest
laces, the most delicately embroidered pocket handkerchiefs, veils,
_fichus, chemisettes_ and _canezous_, trinkets, smelling-bottles, fans,
_vinaigrettes_, gloves, garters; and though last, not least, a purse
well filled to meet the wants or wishes of the bride,--a judicious
attention never omitted.

These _trousseaux_ and _corbeilles_ are placed in a _salon_, and are
exhibited to the friends the two or three days previously to the
wedding; and the view of them often sends young maidens--ay, and
elderly ones, too--away with an anxious desire to enter that holy state
which ensures so many treasures. It is not fair to hold out such
temptations to the unmarried, and may be the cause why they are
generally so desirous to quit the pale of single blessedness.

CHAPTER XIV.

Count Charles de Mornay dined here yesterday, _en famille_. How clever
and amusing he is! Even in his liveliest sallies there is the evidence
of a mind that can reflect deeply, as well as clothe its thoughts in
the happiest language. To be witty, yet thoroughly good-natured as he
is, never exercising his wit at the expense of others, indicates no
less kindness of heart than talent.

I know few things more agreeable than to hear him and his cousin open
the armoury of their wit, which, like summer lightning, flashes rapidly
and brightly, but never wounds. In England, we are apt to consider wit
and satire as nearly synonymous; for we hear of the clever sayings of
our reputed wits, in nine cases out of ten, allied to some ill-natured
_bon mot_, or pointed epigram. In France this is not the case