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plicity of their dress harmonized with the perfec- ll with what follows! My pen almost refuses to tion of their charms. Their heads were not then il record the atrocious fashion-women have worn overloaded with a vain luxury of uscless orna in their ears golden g'uillotines! What then is ments; their long dark hair fell in undularing || fashion ! ringlets on their shoulders, or a simple gold pin W But enough of these horrid subjects! Fashion turned them up with taste, and fastened their has seldom exhibited this degree of atrocity ; but brilliant tresses. In the cities they always went how often has she not appeared abject and dewith their heads uncovered: had they occasion based! Have we not seen her raking even in to expose themselves to the beams of the sun, filth to pick up the brilliant chimeras which then, indeed, a Thessalian hat protected their soverned opinion and seduced the sex! The complexion without giving offence to taste. soft colour of the heavens, the carnation of the

I must not conclude this chapter without shew- rose, or the verdant carpet of our meads had grown. ing how obscure, vile, disgusting or atrocious, the 100 common and were left for the lower classes. origin of many of our fashions has been. Cir- The mud of Paris, the soot of our chimneys, and cumstances of every kind have furnished some the rags of Savoyards became the frshionable fashion or other, and things which only tended to colours. Finally, have we not seen, and this perpetuate the remembrance of fatal accidents undoubtedly is the height of ignominy, have we have been adapted for dress. Thus, the opera- not seen the fair sex secking the colour of their house liaving been formerly consumed by a fire, ribbons in the very excrement of the royal infant : in which a great number of unfortunate people | The colour caca dauphin adorned every dress, and lost their lives, a few days afterwards no other this word, which I cannot now write without recolour was to be seen but that called fou d'opera pugnance, was then in the mouths of all the best They dressed themselves out with the recollection bred women! What a ridiculous raste, that would of human creatures burned alive! But the feu attempt to dress beauty in disgusting images! d'opera was a handsome colour! Have we not With this stroke of the pencil, la lies, I shall seen women wear rings in which were set stones finish the picture of fashion. of the Bastille? These they called bijoux à la

[To be continued.] constitution. But what is all this in coin parison

SABINA;

OR, MORNING SCENES IN THE DRESSING-ROOM OF A ROMAN LADY.

[Continued from Page 85.)

Curmion 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 || It is necessary to observe, that in ancient times Via Sacra does not allow Sabina sutlicient time 110 person who made any pretensions to elwgance to bathe; she is thierefore obliged to have an and opulence, would condescend to cut his own operation performed at her toilette which usually nails; those who could not keep slaves for this took place at the bath, I mean that of cutting purpose, went to a barber's shop to have their and polishing the nails of her fingers and toes. I nails cut. Horace, in one of his most humorous Carmion was the name of the slave who per-| letters, mentions a singular exception to this rule, formed this office at the bath with such peculiar in the person of a public crier, “who cut his skill as to afford perfect satisfaction to her mis wails himself in the shop of a barber." tress. She now lays hold, with extreme care, of Ladies of distinction, however, kept slaves the hand of Sabina, cuts and polishes the nails, who had received regular instruction in the art, one after another, with a small pair of silver to perform this ofíce with the utmost dexterity; tungs and a knife, which were formerly used a principal part of their business was to prevent instead of our scissars; she then commences the the appearance of backbiters (paronychia), and same operation on the toes.

to remove the excrescences at the sides (reduriæ)

with the greatest care. In this particular the themselves up in furs and the skins of anifemales of antiquity possessed the most delicate mals. sense of beauty and propriety. A fine finger | Hence arose the extreme care bestowed by and a handsome nail might well be reckoned the ancients on the preservation of handsome among the thirty beauties, which, according to fingers and nails; to this cause also was probably the celebrated Latin poem of the Italian Gia owing the invention of rings, which were origiyanne Nevizano, were observed in Helen, the nally intended in the East for nothing more than most beautiful of mortals. The females of a method of keeping the fingers small and deliancient Greece and Rome never forgot to place cate I. Hence the frequent use of various kinds a long, soft, and tapering finger' among the in- of juices, herbs, and mineral powders, of which a dispensible requisites of beauty; and as Minerva whole collection of recipes for removing the unafforded them the model of the finest hand, so seemly ruggedness and excrescences of the nails, that of the finest finger was furnished by Diana, may be found in the natural history of Pliny the youngest of all the fair goddesses. To this il alone. When all this is taken into considerabelonged also a regular polished nail, exhibiting | tion, it will not appear surprising that a Roman the colour of a delicate carnation. The master lady of distinction should commit the care of her of the “ Art of Love," does not fail to give his nails as a particular duty to one of her slaves, docile pupils some instructions on this head: and that this should, in those days, be looked “ Whose fingers are too fat, and nails too

upon as one of the principal branches of female coarse,

dress. “ Should always shun much gesture in Carmion had just done cutting the firgerdiscourse."

nails of Sabina, and had rubbed them with a

sponge dipped in vinegar, and was just going to The last verse gives a delicate hint at the rea commence the same operation on those of the son why so great a value was set on handsome | toess, when Sabina recollected that she had a fingers and nails. They then accompanied, or few days before been informed by a Jew doctor, rather they still accompany discourses in those that it is possible to get rid of any corporeal discountries, wib suitable gestures of the hands l order, and to transfer it to another, by mixing and fingers, which were even reduced within up the parings of the nails with wax, and stickthe rules of art; these were considered a princi-|| ing it against the door-post of the stranger). pal portion of the art of dancing, or cheironomie. | She had for some time perceived, with great They could likewise make themselves understood without words, by the mere motion of the

languages of Europe, guante, guanto, gant, are fingers, and perfectly designate in particular

derived from the northern word hund, from which whatever we are accustomed to express by

the language of the middle ages made wanti, numbers *. A finger so communicative and so eloquent,

wantos. was naturally expected to possess beauty, and

I In the East, where rings were originally inhence the attention to their propriety and neat-||

vented, a small, delicate hand is still an essential

requisite of beauty. We are told by Hodges, in ness up to the very tip of the nail, especially

his Travels in the East Indies, that the hands of as the females of those days were not acquainted

the Hindoos are delicately formed, like those of with the use of gloves, so admirably adapted to conceal a number of defects. The custom of

an elegant woman; on which account the hilts of wearing gloves, which, from an extravagant love

Indian sabres are too small for the hands of most

Europeans. of dress, disguises ainong us the most beautiful hands and arms, even at table and in the dancing.

It should not be forgotten that the toes,

even of the most elegant ladies, were completely room, had not yet penetrated into the southern regions of Europe from the cold regions of the

exposed to view, as their sandals were merely

fastened upon the foot with ribbons, one of north t, where the natives are obliged to muffie

which passed between the great toe and that * This art, to which we are utter strangers,

next to it. and which Cicero mentions by the general ap | Pliny mentions this sympathetic cure with pellation, argutias digitorum, is still to be found parings of the nails, only for tertian and quartan in the harems of the East, among the deaf and fevers; but it is only reasonable to suppose, that dumb, and the women who are shut up in them. superstition may have employed them to expel The ladies of antiquity were perfect mistresses ether disorders, as wonderful things have been of this language of the fingers, as appears from related concerning their use in magic, &c. Thus various passages of erratic writers.

it was not permitted to cut the nails on a market† The very names of gloves in the southern day.

concern, the symptoms of a swelling wen on The works of Seneca contain many horrible her neck, and therefore iminediately resolved to examples of the cruel treaiment which slaves make trial of this sympathetic remedy. She received from their masters, in the first emotions called Latris, who was now standing unemployed, of their passion. One of the most remarkable and ordered her carefully to collect the parings passages on this subject is in Galen's treatise on which had dropped upon the floor, and to put the discovery and cure of our passions, in which them into a little box that lay on the table. he speaks of masters who in their rage attacked Poor Latris, who was not just then expecting

their slaves with teeth, fists, and feet, beat out any commission, and whose mind was occupied

their eyes, or scooped them out with styles, with the recollection of the happy days of her which they used in writing It was thus that youth which she passed at Ephesus, was so the Emperor Adrian treated one of his favourite startled at the rough tone in which she was slaves, who demanded of his master the eye of abruptly called by Sabina, that she let fall not which he had deprived him. In the same work the mirror but the case, on the outstretched foo: || Galen relates that he had a Xantippe of a mother, of her mistress. Fortunately Carinion had not who used sometimes to bite her slaves, and was yet applied the knife to the first nail; neverthe. always quarrcling with his father. Another exless a tremendous tempest collected over the ample of one of these domestic furies, is given head of the unfortunate slave:

by Chrysostoin, in his Homilies :-" The pasAs when with crackling Aames a cauldron fries,

sengers,” says he, hear the raving of the misThe bubbling waters from the bottom rise;

tress, and the howling of the slave; she binds Above the brim they force their fiery way;

the girl, after stripping her naked, to the feet of Black vapours climb aloft and cloud the day.

her sofa, and then applies the scourge. The

slaves, when they accompany their mistress to So Donna Sabina springs with a loud scream the barn, expose to public view their backs from her seat, and without sinpping to call the streaming with blood from these flagellations." female executers of her will, she revenges her. Even in the very mode in which they struck self with those instruments which the wild in- The slaves in the face, a refinement in cruelty habitants of the forest employ 10 vent their rage was displayed; they struck them with the on each other-nails, fist, and teeth. Luckily I knuckles of the clenched fist, which was con. the former, the most natural weapons, had juse sidered as highly ignominious, and suited only been cut; but several blows with the clenched to slaves. Hence Seneca says, “ You will find fists on the face of the wretched Latris, were slaves who would rather be scourged than endure followed by a stream of blood from her nose and the disgrace of being struck thus with the mouth, which instantly mingled with the red knuckles. The slaves whom their master juice of the pastils which Sabina had spit in her thought fit to punish in this manner, were some face. The sight of blood only serves to render | times obliged to blow out their cheeks, and thus the tiger still more savage; and the bosomn of present them, that the unkind fist might strike the slave had certainly suffered, had not a most without running the risk of hurting itself! Judicrous scene, which unexpectedly presented

(To be continued.] itself, dissipated the passion of Sabina.

THE FRANK MAN.

BY A LADY.

The habit of falsehood which is established ! come a philosopher, because his mistress had in the world, and which hinders truth from being deceived hin, and his steward had robbed him. welcome if it be not presented in an agreeable He might have expected as much; for he had form, is really an abominable thing. But no long before written a book in which he affirmed matter, I shall always tell it, whether I am asked that all men were false, all women deceitful, or not. I am frank and ingenuous, as I tell and all stewards rogues. every one I meet, in order that my manner may | Notwithstanding this, he was as much vexed be understood. Some persons tell me they do || as if he had foreseen nothing, and every evening not like this sincerity, but I do not mind that; l) after he told us instances of the men, women, mine does not so much belong to my character || and stewards; he said, can you believe that my as to my principles. I was brought up in the mistress, whom I had seduced from one of my country hy my uncle, who was, as he said, be- Il friends, could have abandoned ine, and that my steward could plunder me of a thousand out of the scrape, and took ine home with him. crowns ? for these things occasioned my uncle 10 | He had a beautiful wife; she pleased me; I turn philosopher. Afterwards he informed me was 100 frank to dissemble my feelings, and she. that falsehood inhabited great cities under the was too sincere to disguise the impression which name of politeness, and that the character of I had made on her. As I am candour itself, I men of the world, was that of a worn out meilal, made no mystery of my proceedings. The huswhich I had before heard.

band suspected something, and questioned me He died; and as soon as I was in possession about the matter. Frank as I am, I could not of his fortune, I resolved to go to London, to || hide any thing from him. The lady was sent exhibit an ingenuous man to that great city, back to her family, and I was run through the and I got into the stage-coach. I there found || body in three places by the husband, and nearly a lady whom I thought handsome, and I told || lost my life. Some people blamed me, and preher so in plain terms; another was ugly, of tendel that instead of telling all to the husband, which I also informed her, without being asked. I should have acted so as to have nothing to

In consequence, as I complained of the cold, I tell. That may be, but I did not at first think the ugly lady kept the window on her side open of it, and, moreover, I pique myself on my during the whole journey, as was the glass on frankness. the opposite side, by the husband of the lady 1 This affair, however, did me injury. I rethought handsome.

I turned into the country, and was resolved at We arrived at last, in rather an ill humour; || least not to tell truth to a person's face. I went I found in the inn-yard one of my late uncle's to Mrs. A. and told her Mrs. B. was very iamifriends; I told him I was not sorry to see him, able. They had quirrelled, and next day the and that if I had not thus met with him, I should I door of the former was shut against me. The have taken an opportunity in the course of the | next day, whilst I was with Mrs. C. I saw month to have paid him a visit. Although a Miss D. enter, who had one shoulder half a foot little surprised, as he was a good sort of inan, he higher than the other, and I said she was humplooked on this speech as the brogue of my backed. Miss E, who heard me, made no country, and took me to one of his relations, answer, but she went round the room, talking who invited me to her house to hear a comedy. to every one, and the next moment the humpI expected to find the piece detestable, and to backed lady scowled at me; and Mrs. F. looked say so; however, it was not bad, and as I pique gruffly at me, because her grand-daughter, myself upon my frankness, I told the author it Miss G. who had but one eye, supposed that was tolerable. Every body was distressed; and when opportunity offered I should come and tell although the mistress of the house did not in her so. I then turned myself to Mr. H. to tell terest herself in favour of the person who had him his wife was much better dressed than Miss I. read his piece, yet I learned, a few days after, that who, a minute after, I found was his mistress. she was going to give a concert from which I was afterwards in treaty of marriage with wis formally excluded; so much aversion have | Miss K. who was proposed as a wife to me bepeople in that great city 10 frankness. To con cause I had said she sing well; this made all sole myseli I went into the pit at the Opera. the relations of Miss L. my sworn enemies,

My neighbour, who, as I afterwards found, || | because I had accused her of singing out of tune. was a master mason, offered me snuff; I refused l I missed this match because I had in confidence a pinch, because I never take snuff, and I added told Mrs. M. that my future spouse did not dance that his snuff had a bad smell; my neighbour | on tiptoe, and this set me a quarrelling with all was angry; his companion, who was likewise all the other letters of the alphabet. master mason, and was a little in liquor, also l I then retired and shut myself up in my own grew angry. There happened to be a number || house, where I am now very coldly treated by of people of their profession in the pit that my housekeeper, because I proved by my calevening; I should have been knocked down if il culations she was fifty-eight years old, whereas had not been protected by a man who got me she pretended to be no more than fifty-six

ON DEATH.

In one of the volumes of the posthumous || constitutes his false glory. Let him produce tise works of M. de Floriar, 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, l| 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 dificulty 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 The Prince took him at his word, and offered it from death. to bet fifty Louis d'Ors that he did not suc- “ That miser who has spent his life in dimia ceed. The curate was to be umpire. Deinishing his wants, who has forgotten that God Florian set himself to work, and in a few days! had only given him riches to relieve the poor, produced the fruits of his labour. What was !! that miser at last hias arrived at the piich of the surprise of the Duke and the curate when smothering the voice of nature. The unfeeling they heard the young lad recite a sermon on habit of repulsing the unfortunate, has rendered Death, which might have stood the test of the him deaf to their complaints; he hears not the press! The Prince acknowledged he had lost cries of the wretch who begs a bit of bread, that his wager, and directly paid the money, saying, he may live another day; he sees not those he liad great pleasure in losing it. The curate starving children who struggle for the scanty carried off the sermon, and preached it in his I morsels moistened with the sweat of the brows parish church. Here follows all that has been of their father; he heeds not that young girl found of this perforinunce among his manu- || who, pursued by misery and vice, begs his sucscripts; if the age and situation of the writer be cour to preserve her innocence ; nothing moves considered, they are precious memorials of his him, nothing affects him, his ferocious lieart is talents. He died in 1795, not having attained incapable of relenting. lle carries to inis hoard the age of forty.

that treasure which he faucies was attempted to. “ Death is every where; it is in the titles that be extoried from him, and deposits it there, apthe ambitious man seeks to obtain, it is in the Il pla uding his own barharity; he does not even treasures which the miser hoards, it is in the feel any remorse. Suffering humanity cries not pleasures the voluptuous man thinks he enjoys; || for him; but death alone has not lost its rights, death is the basis and end of every thing. Fol. lit lies in wait in the place where he has bidden low me in the world, contemplate with me all || his riches. The barbarian is affected whilst the world holds dear, and behold death every counting his yold, the mere idea that he must where.

one day, in spite of himself, leave it to greedy “ That grandee of the earth, who, proud of heirs, poisons all the pleasure he takes in accuhis high birth, of his dignities, believes hinıself mulating; he views, with sighs, the vile metal kneaded of nore noble clay than I am; that which forms the destiny of his life; a few tears, grandee to whom we pay the price of what his for the first time, roll down his cheeks. As death ancestors have done, and who dares to look on only performis, this miracle, so only death can our homage as a tribute he imposed on us at his make itself heard; death is placed in the midst birth, that grandce owes every thing to death; of his treasures, and from thence cries to him, he is its work, he holds from it alonc all which remember thou art but dust!"

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