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with what follows! My pen almost refuses to record the atrocious fashion-women have worn in their ears golden guillotines! What then is fashion!

plicity of their dress harmonized with the perfection of their charms. Their heads were not then overloaded with a vain luxury of useless ornaments; their long dark hair fell in undulating ringlets on their shoulders, or a simple gold pin turned them up with taste, and fastened their brilliant tresses. In the cities they always went with their heads uncovered: had they occasion to expose themselves to the beams of the sun, then, indeed, a Thessalian hat protected their complexion without giving offence to taste.

But enough of these horrid subjects! Fashion has seldom exhibited this degree of atrocity; but how often has she not appeared abject and debased! Have we not seen her raking even in filth to pick up the brilliant chimeras which governed opinion and seduced the sex! The soft colour of the heavens, the carnation of the rose, or the verdant carpet of our meads had grown. too common and were left for the lower classes. The mud of Paris, the soot of our chimneys, and the rags of Savoyards became the fshionable colours. Finally, have we not seen, and this undoubtedly is the height of ignominy, have we

I must not conclude this chapter without shewing how obscure, vile, disgusting or atrocious, the origin of many of our fashions has been. Circumstances of every kind have furnished some fashion or other, and things which only tended to perpetuate the remembrance of fatal accidents have been adapted for dress. Thus, the opera-not seen the fair sex seeking the colour of their ribbons in the very excrement of the royal infant? The colour caca dauphin adorned every dress, and this word, which I cannot now write without repugnance, was then in the mouths of all the best bred women! What a ridiculous taste, that would attempt to dress beauty in disgusting images! With this stroke of the pencil, ladies, I shall finish the picture of fashion.

house having been formerly consumed by a fire, in which a great number of unfortunate people lost their lives, a few days afterwards no other colour was to be seen but that called feu d'opera They dressed themselves out with the recollection of human creatures burned alive! But the feu d'opera was a handsome colour! Have we not seen women wear rings in which were set stones of the Bastille? These they called bijoux à la constitution. But what is all this in comparison

[To be continued.]



Carmion pares the nails; anxiety to have handsome hands and nails; Latris lets fall the case of the Mirror.

THE procession of the knights through the Via Sacra does not allow Sabina sufficient time to bathe; she is therefore obliged to have an operation performed at her toilette which usually took place at the bath, I mean that of cutting and polishing the nails of her fingers and toes. Carmion was the name of the slave who performed this office at the bath with such peculiar skill as to afford perfect satisfaction to her mis-mails himself in the shop of a barber."


She now lays hold, with extreme care, of the hand of Sabina, cuts and polishes the nails, one after another, with a small pair of silver tongs and a knife, which were formerly used instead of our scissars; she then commences the same operation on the toes.

It is necessary to observe, that in ancient times no person who made any pretensions to elegance and opulence, would condescend to cut his own nails; those who could not keep slaves for this purpose, went to a barber's shop to have their nails cut. Horace, in one of his most humorous letters, mentions a singular exception to this rule, in the person of a public crier, "who cut his

Ladies of distinction, however, kept slaves who had received regular instruction in the art, to perform this office with the utmost dexterity; a principal part of their business was to prevent the appearance of backbiters (paronychia), and to remove the excrescences at the sides (reduvia)


with the greatest care. In this particular the themselves up in furs and the skins of ani-
females of antiquity possessed the most delicate
sense of beauty and propriety. A fine finger
and a handsome nail might well be reckoned
among the thirty beauties, which, according to
the celebrated Latin poem of the Italian Gia-
vanne Nevizano, were observed in Helen, the
most beautiful of mortals. The females of
ancient Greece and Rome never forgot to place
a long, soft, and tapering finger among the in-
dispensible requisites of beauty; and as Minerva
afforded them the model of the finest hand, so
that of the finest finger was furnished by Diana,
the youngest of all the fair goddesses. To this
belonged also a regular polished nail, exhibiting
the colour of a delicate carnation. The master
of the "Art of Love," does not fail to give his
docile pupils some instructions on this head:

"Whose fingers are too fat, and nails too
"Should always shun much gesture in

The last verse gives a delicate hint at the reason why so great a value was set on handsome fingers and nails. They then accompanied, or rather they still accompany discourses in those countries, with suitable gestures of the hands and fingers, which were even reduced within the rules of art; these were considered a principal portion of the art of dancing, or cheironomie. They could likewise make themselves understood without words, by the mere motion of the fingers, and perfectly designate in particular whatever we are accustomed to express by numbers *.

A finger so communicative and so eloquent, was naturally expected to possess beauty, and hence the attention to their propriety and neatness up to the very tip of the nail, especially as the females of those days were not acquainted with the use of gloves, so admirably adapted to conceal a number of defects. The custom of wearing gloves, which, from an extravagant love of dress, disguises among us the most beautiful hands and arms, even at table and in the dancingroom, had not yet penetrated into the southern regions of Europe from the cold regions of the north †, where the natives are obliged to muffle

This art, to which we are utter strangers, and which Cicero mentions by the general appellation, argutias digitorum, is still to be found in the harems of the East, among the deaf and dumb, and the women who are shut up in them. The ladies of antiquity were perfect mistresses of this language of the fingers, as appears from various passages of erratic writers.

The very names of gloves in the southern

Hence arose the extreme care bestowed by the ancients on the preservation of handsome fingers and nails; to this cause also was probably owing the invention of rings, which were originally intended in the East for nothing more than a method of keeping the fingers small and delicate. Hence the frequent use of various kinds of juices, herbs, and mineral powders, of which a whole collection of recipes for removing the unseemly ruggedness and excrescences of the nails, may be found in the natural history of Pliny alone. When all this is taken into consideration, it will not appear surprising that a Roman lady of distinction should commit the care of her nails as a particular duty to one of her slaves, and that this should, in those days, be looked upon as one of the principal branches of female dress.

Carmion had just done cutting the fingernails of Sabina, and had rubbed them with a sponge dipped in vinegar, and was just going to commence the same operation on those of the toes, when Sabina recollected that she had a few days before been informed by a Jew doctor, that it is possible to get rid of any corporeal disorder, and to transfer it to another, by mixing up the parings of the nails with wax, and sticking it against the door-post of the stranger |]. She had for some time perceived, with great

languages of Europe, guante, guanto, gant, are derived from the northern word hand, from which the language of the middle ages made wanti, wantos.

In the East, where rings were originally invented, a small, delicate hand is still an essential requisite of beauty. We are told by Hodges, in his Travels in the East Indies, that the hands of the Hindoos are delicately formed, like those of an elegant woman; on which account the hilts of Indian sabres are too small for the hands of most Europeans.

§ It should not be forgotten that the toes, even of the most elegant ladies, were completely exposed to view, as their sandals were merely fastened upon the foot with ribbons, one of which passed between the great toe and that next to it.

Pliny mentions this sympathetic cure with parings of the nails, only for tertian and quartan fevers; but it is only reasonable to suppose, that superstition may have employed them to expel other disorders, as wonderful things have been related concerning their use in magic, &c. Thus it was not permitted to cut the nails on a marketday.

concern, the symptoms of a swelling wen on her neck, and therefore immediately resolved to make trial of this sympathetic remedy. She called Latris, who was now standing unemployed, and ordered her carefully to collect the parings which had dropped upon the floor, and to put them into a little box that lay on the table.

Poor Latris, who was not just then expecting any commission, and whose mind was occupied with the recollection of the happy days of her youth which she passed at Ephesus, was so startled at the rough tone in which she was abruptly called by Sabina, that she let fall not the mirror but the case, on the outstretched foot of her mistress. Fortunately Carinion had not yet applied the knife to the first nail; nevertheless a tremendous tempest collected over the head of the unfortunate slave:

As when with crackling flames a cauldron fries, The bubbling waters from the bottom rise; Above the brim they force their fiery way; Black vapours climb aloft and cloud the day.

So Donna Sabina springs with a loud scream from her seat, and without stopping to call the female executers of her will, she revenges herself with those instruments which the wild inhabitants of the forest employ to vent their rage on each other-nails, fist, and teeth. Luckily the former, the most natural weapons, had just been cut; but several blows with the clenched fists on the face of the wretched Latris, were followed by a stream of blood from her nose and mouth, which instantly mingled with the red juice of the pastils which Sabina had spit in her face. The sight of blood only serves to render the tiger still more savage; and the bosom of the slave had certainly suffered, had not a most Judicrous scene, which unexpectedly presented itself, dissipated the passion of Sabina.

The works of Seneca contain many horrible examples of the cruel treatment which slaves received from their masters, in the first emotions of their passion. One of the most remarkable passages on this subject is in Galen's treatise on the discovery and cure of our passions, in which he speaks of masters who in their rage attacked their slaves with teeth, fists, and feet, beat out their eyes, or scooped them out with styles, which they used in writing. It was thus that the Emperor Adrian treated one of his favourite slaves, who demanded of his master the eye of which he had deprived him. In the same work Galen relates that he had a Xantippe of a mother, who used sometimes to bite her slaves, and was always quarreling with his father. Another example of one of these domestic furies, is given by Chrysostom, in his Homilies :-" The passengers," says he, hear the raving of the mistress, and the howling of the slave; she binds the girl, after stripping her naked, to the feet of her sofa, and then applies the scourge. The slaves, when they accompany their mistress to the bath, expose to public view their backs streaming with blood from these flagellations."

Even in the very mode in which they struck the slaves in the face, a refinement in cruelty was displayed; they struck them with the knuckles of the clenched fist, which was considered as highly ignominious, and suited only to slaves. Hence Seneca says, "You will find slaves who would rather be scourged than endure the disgrace of being struck thus with the knuckles. The slaves whom their master thought fit to punish in this manner, were sometimes obliged to blow out their cheeks, and thus present them, that the unkind fist might strike without running the risk of hurting itself! [To be continued.]


THE habit of falsehood which is established in the world, and which hinders truth from being welcome if it be not presented in an agreeable form, is really an abominable thing. But no matter, I shall always tell it, whether I am asked or not. I am frank and ingenuous, as I tell every one I meet, in order that my manner may be understood. Some persons tell me they do not like this sincerity, but I do not mind that; mine does not so much belong to my character as to my principles. I was brought up in the country by my uncle, who was, as he said, be

come a philosopher, because his mistress had deceived him, and his steward had robbed him. He might have expected as much; for he had long before written a book in which he affirmed that all men were false, all women deceitful, and all stewards rogues.

Notwithstanding this, he was as much vexed as if he had foreseen nothing, and every evening after he told us instances of the men, women, and stewards; he said, can you believe that my mistress, whom I had seduced from one of my friends, could have abandoned ine, and that

my steward could plunder me of a thousand crowns? for these things occasioned my uncle to turn philosopher. Afterwards he informed me that falsehood inhabited great cities under the name of politeness, and that the character of men of the world, was that of a worn out medal, which I had before heard.

He died; and as soon as I was in possession of his fortune, I resolved to go to London, to exhibit an ingenuous man to that great city, || and I got into the stage-coach. I there found a lady whom I thought handsome, and I told her so in plain terms; another was ugly, of which I also informed her, without being asked.

In consequence, as I complained of the cold, the ugly lady kept the window on her side open during the whole journey, as was the glass on the opposite side, by the husband of the lady I thought handsome.

We arrived at last, in rather an ill humour; I found in the inn-yard one of my late uncle's friends; I told him I was not sorry to see him, and that if I had not thus met with him, I should have taken an opportunity in the course of the month to have paid him a visit. Although a little surprised, as he was a good sort of man, he looked on this speech as the brogue of my country, and took me to one of his relations, who invited me to her house to hear a comedy. I expected to find the piece detestable, and to say so; however, it was not bad, and as I pique myself upon my frankness, I told the author it was tolerable. Every body was distressed; and although the mistress of the house did not interest herself in favour of the person who had read his piece, yet I learned, a few days after, that she was going to give a concert from which I was formally excluded; so much aversion have people in that great city to frankness. To console myself I went into the pit at the Opera.


My neighbour, who, as I afterwards found, was a master mason, offered me snuff; I refused a pinch, because I never take snuff, and I added that his snuff had a bad smell; my neighbour was angry; his companion, who was likewise a master mason, and was a little in liquor, also grew angry. There happened to be a number of people of their profession in the pit that evening; I should have been knocked down if I had not been protected by a man who got me

out of the scrape, and took me home with him. He had a beautiful wife; she pleased me; I was too frank to dissemble my feelings, and she. was too sincere to disguise the impression which I had made on her. As I am candour itself, I made no mystery of my proceedings. The husband suspected something, and questioned me about the matter. Frank as I am, I could not hide any thing from him. The lady was sent back to her family, and I was run through the body in three places by the husband, and nearly lost my life. Some people blamed me, and pretende that instead of telling all to the husband, I should have acted so as to have nothing to tell. That may be, but I did not at first think of it, and, moreover, I pique myself on my


I re


This affair, however, did me injury. turned into the country, and was resolved at least not to tell truth to a person's face. I went to Mrs. A. and told her Mrs. B. was very amiable. They had quarrelled, and next day the the former was shut against me. The next day, whilst I was with Mrs. C. I saw Miss D. enter, who had one shoulder half a foot higher than the other, and I said she was humpbacked. Miss E, who heard me, made no answer, but she went round the room, talking to every one, and the next moment the humpbacked lady scowled at me; and Mrs. F. looked gruffly at me, because her grand-daughter, Miss G. who had but one eye, supposed that when opportunity offered I should come and tell her so. I then turned myself to Mr. H. to tell him his wife was much better dressed than Miss I. who, a minute after, I found was his mistress.

I was afterwards in treaty of marriage with Miss K. who was proposed as a wife to me because I had said she sung well; this made all the relations of Miss L. my sworn enemies, because I had accused her of singing out of tune. I missed this match because I had in confidence told Mrs. M. that my future spouse did not dance on tiptoe, and this set me a quarrelling with all the other letters of the alphabet.

I then retired and shut myself up in my own house, where I am now very coldly treated by my housekeeper, because I proved by my calculations she was fifty-eight years old, whereas she pretended to be no more than fifty-six


In one of the volumes of the posthumous || constitutes his false glory. Let him produce the works of M. de Florian, a short account of his titles which elevate him above his equals; every life is prefixed, and this contains part of a sermon one of those titles is a gift of death. His nobiof his composition. He was at that time one of lity! this is founded on a heap of corpses; the the pages of the Duke de Penthievre, and not yet more the heap increases the more illustrious it fifteen years of age. The curate of St. Eustache becomes; a load of dust is the throne of that was conversing with the Duke about sermons, nobility of which he is so proud, and shortly he and young De Florian joining the conversation, will himself become a step of that funeral throne. maintained that a sermon was not a matter of His dignities! to whom does he owe them? to difficulty in composition, and that he thought death, which has carried off those who deserved himself capable of writing one, if it were re- and acquired them; death has reaped the man, quired. the title remains, and this ambitious noble holds it from death.

The Prince took him at his word, and offered to bet fifty Louis d'Ors that he did not succeed. The curate was to be umpire. De Florian set himself to work, and in a few days produced the fruits of his labour. What was the surprise of the Duke and the curate when they heard the young lad recite a sermon on Death, which might have stood the test of the press! The Prince acknowledged he had lost his wager, and directly paid the money, saying, he had great pleasure in losing it. The curate carried off the sermon, and preached it in his parish church. Here follows all that has been found of this performance among his manuscripts; if the age and situation of the writer be considered, they are precious memorials of his talents. He died in 1795, not having attained the age of forty.

"Death is every where; it is in the titles that the ambitious man seeks to obtain, it is in the treasures which the miser hoards, it is in the pleasures the voluptuous man thinks he enjoys; death is the basis and end of every thing. Follow me in the world, contemplate with me all the world holds dear, and behold death every where.

"That grandee of the earth, who, proud of his high birth, of his dignities, believes himself kneaded of more noble clay than I am; that grandee to whom we pay the price of what his ancestors have done, and who dares to look on our homage as a tribute he imposed on us at his birth, that grandce owes every thing to death; he is its work, he holds from it alone all which

"That miser who has spent his life in diminishing his wants, who has forgotten that God had only given him riches to relieve the poor, that miser at last has arrived at the pitch of smothering the voice of nature. The unfeeling habit of repulsing the unfortunate, has rendered him deaf to their complaints; he hears not the cries of the wretch who begs a bit of bread, that he may live another day; he sees not those starving children who struggle for the scanty morsels moistened with the sweat of the brows of their father; he heeds not that young girl who, pursued by misery and vice, begs his succour to preserve her innocence; nothing moves | him, nothing affects him, his ferocious heart is incapable of relenting. He carries to his hoard that treasure which he fancies was attempted to. be extorted from him, and deposits it there, applauding his own barbarity; he does not even feel any remorse. Suffering humanity cries not for him; but death alone has not lost its rights, it lies in wait in the place where he has hidden his riches. The barbarian is affected whilst counting his gold, the mere idea that he must one day, in spite of himself, leave it to greedy heirs, poisons all the pleasure he takes in accumulating; he views, with sighs, the vile metal which forms the destiny of his life; a few tears, for the first time, roll down his cheeks. As death only performs this miracle, so only death can make itself heard; death is placed in the midst of his treasures, and from thence cries to him,remember thou art but dust!"

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