pronounced her walk, alone, to be worth a voyage across the Atlantic. It is certainly very fine, and her gesticulation is likewise marked by that indescribable beauty which characterizes the more complicated pantomime of her dance. With what captivating naïveté did she not fill the character of Fleur des Champs! Her grace ran through the entire story like a golden thread, binding together its dream-like fancies, from the time she is first seen in her cradle of roses, to the concluding moment, when in her shell she ascends to the world through the waters of old father Danube.

This ballet is, I think, one of the most delightful works of art, in its way, that I have seen. I did not regard it merely as a graceful exhibition of plastic muscle, rather as a living and breathing language, embodying a story not altogether unpoetical. It has cer tainly nothing of the utile. It is all of the dulce. It is all lightness, and beauty, and grace, charming away your hour of rest, and seemingly of the same unsubstantial stuff whereof dreams are made. Pronounce it ridiculous if you please. It is still a part of the great system of means for accomplishing this necessary end,—the amusement of the Parisians. So far as it illustrates a taste of the time, you cannot, hard-reasoning Utilitarian as you are, daff it aside with absolute indifference. With respect to it, even your beloved question of "What does all this prove?" may not be entirely in

vain.

Friday night.-I have just come from seeing Taglioni in another ballet, entitled the Sylphide. This and the Fille du Danube are now the only pieces in which she performs. I was more charmed than on the former occasion. The beauty of simplicity is inex. haustible. Taglioni is the beau ideal of simplicity. Taglioni can never tire. Nay, the more I see her, the more of newness and of charm does she reveal.

What is the Sylphide? A fantastic and fairy thing, whose scenes are laid in Scotland. The curtain rising, you see a young lowland shepherd slumbering, and over him, as if in guardiance, hangs a sylph. This sylph is Taglioni. She is in white; a garland is on her head; she bears wings like those which painters have given to Psyche, and her position is that to which you have been familia. rized by numberless engravings in the musical windows of Paris and London. She rises, moves her wings to cool the air which the youthful Scot breathes, awakens him by a kiss on the forehead, and while in a dreamy confusion, he pursues her moving like a phantom, she swiftly disappears up the chimney of the apartment. Now awaking his comrade Gurn, he asks him if he has seen that fairy form. No; Gurn has only dreamed of Effie, who, by the bye, young Scot far better than him. Effie is indeed the pro.

likes the

mised bride of this young Scot. Preparations are soon made for their nuptials, in the midst of which comes in an old witch, Madge by name, who reading the palms of all the lads and virgins present, foretells, among other things, that Effie will be the wife, not of the young Scot, but of Gurn. The former is soon left alone. He is half in love with the sylph, or rather with a certain vision of his sleep, for such to him does Taglioni seem. Well, while he is musing, up rises a distant window, and the sylph appears therein. By mysterious means she sails down to where stands her beloved. She appears sad, for he is soon to marry Effie. Notwithstanding her sadness, he resolves to abide true to his Scottish bride. Taglioni now goes through some steps of surpassing grace to win him. It is all in vain. And yet if there be any thing which may worthily cheat a young man into forgetfulness, not only of his vows but of all the past, it is the style of Taglioni. She now folds around her the cloak which Effie had accidentally left behind. This trick succeeds. The recreant Scot salutes the sylph's lips. Gurn happened to see this. He gives notice to Effie and her companions that the Scot is billing and cooing with an unknown damsel. They rush in. The sylph had swiftly seated herself in a large arm-chair, over which, for concealment, is thrown Effie's cloak. Gurn suddenly jerks up said cloak, but lo! the form has vanished. Mighty is the machinery of the Academie Royale de Musique. It is complete diablerie. There is nothing like it in all the world.

I shall not detail the various events which take place ere the Scot finds himself, alas! quite disloyal to his first love, and led on, captivated by the sylph, far away into her own fairy realms. I think that never was stage scenery arranged, so as, even in any remote degree, to equal that which these realms present. It is executed by French taste, out of abundant governmental funds; and its ambition is to outrival any thing of the kind in Europe. It is indeed unique and magnificent beyond all parallel. In the theatres of my own country I had been taught to think it a pretty clever feat, if but one good-looking actress were made to soar, by the aid of ropes and wires, from the nether to the upper regions. But fancy to yourself an entire score of French nymphs, flying at the same moment through what seemed the heavens, near and far away, over meadows and among groves, while approaching on the earth from the distance, appears a band of some forty or fifty others, each in white, adorned with rose wreaths, and beating their Psyche wings, as, with Taglioni at their head, they advance and retire in every line of beauty and of grace. What a magnificent succession of tableaux could their successive positions have been, transferred to the canvass! Could only the lines written by Taglioni on the un

retaining air have been traced on paper, they would have formed a study for any seulptor or painter. All seems enchantment. It is airy, and wavering, and noiseless as a dream. You hear not the fall of a single footstep. All is in motion, and all is in deep stillness. Surely there could be desired no more perfect realization of fairy land than this. The French do these things well. They understand exactly what will delight in this luxurious centre of all the world, where thousands on thousands congregate for no other mortal end than mere amusement. The ballet is a work of art. It must be executed on a grand scale, and with nicest delicacy in all its minutest details, that it may please the artificial tastes which have been created to enjoy it. It is so executed; and every night is it witnessed by thousands, thronging the immense theatre to the very roof.

The part of the young Scot was performed by an Italian named Guerra. He dances with vigour and extreme legerity. His elastic springs surprise you. His pirouettes astonish. Therein lies his genius. He twirls about swiftly and painfully long. Indeed, the wags of the theatre declare that Guerra would pirouette until doomsday did not the Police close the house each night at twelve. He, however, discloses a consciousness. He seems to know that he dances well. Like Madame Julia, his attitudes are continually saying, "think of that." It neutralizes half the effect of his fine motions.

But what is the denouement of the tale? the Scot is in fairy land. There, strange to say, the sylph plays the coquette. She delights him with her motions, but she vanishes away whenever he attempts to approach her. In these scenes is Taglioni again inimitable. It is as a sylph that she should always be seen. It is only thus that all her grace and lightness can shine out. It seems to be a character necessary for the success of one who, though upon the earth, seems, so far as motion is concerned, to be so little of the earth. The coquetry of Taglioni, the sylph, is the only amiable coquetry I have ever seen. It enabled her to reveal some new capacities of her finely moulded form. It was soon, however, to be subdued, The Scot having sought out and requested the above-mentioned Madge to give him a charm whereby he might secure the sylph, receives a crimson scarf. This he found occasion dexterously to fling around her. Embraced within its folds, her wings fall from her shoulders, and she falls dead to the earth. With the loss of her liberty has passed away her life. The Scot, of course, is inconsolable. Her sister sylphs now cluster around the lifeless form, enshroud it in a transparent veil; and while with it they slowly ascend heavenwards by the mysterious propulsion of their wings, the cur

tain drops. Thus ends the Sylphide; and you retire from it to your solitary chamber, doubtful, perchance, whether what you have for the last hour witnessed, be some pleasant vision of your slumbers or a substantial reality. J. J. J.

SONG.

"I NEVER KNEW HOW SWEET a light."

I NEVER knew how sweet a light
Could beam from woman's eyes,
Till I beheld thine own, more bright
Than stars in summer skies.

I never knew how sweet a tone
A woman's voice could sing,
Till I had listened to thine own
More soft than notes of Spring.

I never knew how sweet a grace
In woman's form was seen,
Till in thy motions I could trace
The bearing of a queen.

I never knew what charms could be
Combined in only one,

Till first my heart confessed in thee
Thy sex's paragon!

HERMION,

LEAVES FROM A LADY'S JOURNAL.

No. 6.

BY GRACE GRAFTON.

Sabbath obligations of Catholics—Sunday in Zacatecas continued-Bull-fighting, with some of its varieties- The theatres.

CHURCH going in Mexico is very different from church going in the United States, though there it is equally, I may say far more, a matter of strict religious obligation: nothing but absolute necessity can excuse a catholic for neglecting to hear mass on every day that the church requires it, be it Sunday or feast day; but if he hears one entire mass, occupying the space of thirty or forty minutes, his religious duties are complied with for that day, the remainder of which may be devoted to every species of amusement within his reach. Labour is forbidden; but with catholics pleasure is the very essence of the Lord's day. Is there a Plaza de Toros ?— on Sunday it is open, morning and afternoon. Is there a Theatre? -on Sunday night behold a fuller house than on any other night in the week. It must be evident to every one who ever passed a sabbath in a catholic city, that on this point they have no religious scruples whatever; they have never been taught the commandment which says, "keep holy the sabbath day;" or they put a different construction on the words "keep holy" from that which they bear with us. Thus, in following pursuits, which in a community like ours would be in defiance of religious law and of public opinion, they commit no breach of propriety, are guilty of no dereliction of principle, and so far are innocent, and justified in adhering to their own peculiar customs. Nor is it to this particular distinction in the religious usages of the catholics that ought to be attributed the laxity of morals that is observable in their communities; because we do not find that a strict observance of the sabbath leads to ge. neral purity of morals or propriety of deportment, and it does not appear that the open and social enjoyments of which all partake in the unrestrained glee of their hearts, can have a more prejudicial effect on the character than the rash defiance of public sentiment, or weary discontent, or hypocrisy, to which rigid restrictions give rise when injudiciously exercised over the young and the thought.