cause much inconvenience to the neck of the fair Agnes, who used to call the necklace her "iron collar." cast towards a favored lover, and such a gift was considered of inestimable value when still retaining the warmth of the lady's hand. Catherine de Medici and Diana of Poitiers The Parasol is another desperate weapon of introduced the use of pearls, and for some beauty. The use of the parasol is derived time displaced the diamond rage; but Marie from very ancient times, though its form has Stuart having brought some superb diamonds altered but little. Upon some of the pictures into France, the ladies soon reassumed them. discovered at Herculaneum there are parasols At the coronation of Mary de Medici, while very similar to those now in use. A sort of diamonds were worn freely on the robes, they pipe of a blue color supports at its extremity were interspersed with pearls. It was the four branches of the same hue. Upon these custom of that time to entwine strings of is fixed the covering, the interior of which is pearls in the hair, which fell in knots over the of a deeper blue than the supporters. The shoulders. Soon afterwards, ornaments of border is of red, ornamented with festoons of steel, glass, and beads, became the reigning favorites, driving diamonds from the field, and nearly obtaining a victory over the pearls. Under Louis XIV. the great love for diamonds revived. Robes were embroidered with them, and besides necklaces, aigrettes, and bracelets, they were employed to ornament the stomachers, shoulders, waistbands, and skirts of the dress. This fashion continued till the approach of the French Revolution, when sentimental ornaments had their turn. Necklaces and bracelets of hair were attestations of the conquests which beauty had made, weapons to use against those it hoped to obtain, or reminiscences and memorials of the dear ones who, in those troublous times, had been consigned to a bloody or premature grave. azure. The rest of the covering is adorned with quadrangular figures of blue and white, and with yellow arabesques, the whole terminating with a blue flower on the point, which with us is of ivory or silver. Ostensibly, the parasol is to preserve the face from the influence of the sun. How it is used we need not say. Many a disappointment does it produce when dropped to conceal the face en passant; while its partial fall, just leaving the lips to view, only increases one's desire to see the countenance so mysteriously shaded. We have recapitulated some of the outer weapons of beauty. We need not dilate on the inherent weapons: the eye, the cheek, the lip, the undulating figure, the silken tresses, the lovely qualities of the mind. The power of these weapons is acknowledged in every moment of our lives. As Disraeli observes, "It is at the foot of woman we lay the laurels that, without her smile, would never have been gained: it is her image that strings the lyre of the poet, that animates the voice in the blaze of eloquent faction, and guides the brain in the august toils of stately councils. Whatever may be the lot of manhowever unfortunate, however oppressed-if he only love and be loved, he must strike a balance in favor of existence; for love can illumine the dark roof of poverty, and can lighten the fetters of the slave." GIRLS PLAYING. We wonder how many ways of "flirting" a fan have been discovered up to the present moment; something like a thousand were advertised a few years back to be taught by a lady, in six lessons. The fans of the present day bear no comparison for beauty with those in use among the ancients. The most beautiful, among the orientals, were composed of very thin plates of wood, upon which were fastened the feathers of the rarest birds. From the shores of Asia the use of fans was adopted by the Greeks, and it soon passed from them to the Romans. The most esteemed fans were made of peacocks' feathers, disposed in rows, and fastened at the extremity of a handle richly ornamented with rings of gold. In the boudoirs of Rome, ladies were fanned by the There is hardly another sight in the world so gentleman who came to pay them homage; pretty as that of a company of young girlsbut on other occasions, female slaves were the almost women grown-at play, and so giving themfanners: and especially while the Roman lady selves up to their airy impulse that their tiptoes indulged in her afternoon sleep, several slaves barely touch the ground. Girls are so incompawere employed in keeping her cool. In this rably wilder and more effervescent than boys, country, fans were first used by ladies to hide more untameable, and regardless of rule and limit, their faces in church; and now their various with an evershifting variety, breaking continually uses are better known among our ladies than into new modes of fun, yet with a harmonious even among the Romans, with whom the fan, propriety through all. Their steps, their voices, at the theatre especially, was frequently with a strain of music inaudible to us. Young appear free as the wind, but keep consonance thrown aside for cool crystal balls, which were men and boys, on the other hand, play according gracefully thrown from one hand to another, to recognised law, old traditionary games permitimparting a refreshing coolness. A slave ting no caprices of fancy, but with scope enough carried these balls in a silk bag filled with for the outbreak of savage instincts; for, young rose leaves, and placed in a little fillagree or old, in play or in earnest, man is prone to be basket. Sometimes these crystal balls were a brute.-Polly Anne. OUT OF THE TAVERN. Now old Jim Delany had a log house, sheep and cows, oxen and horse, a barn full of wheat and The following is a translation of a German bal-stacks of hay, the produce of a good lot of bush lad on a tipsy man, which has been set to music, and is often sung in Germany; it is rather droll in the original, and perhaps has not lost all its humour in being overset, as they call it, into English : Our of the tavern I've just stepped to-night: Moon! 'tis a very queer figure you cut, Then the street lamps, what a scandalous sight! All is confusion; now, is'nt it odd? Sure it were rash with this crew to remain,- FOREST GLEANINGS. No. X. "A few leaves gathered by the wayside." BUSH WEDDING AND WOOING. land. The father of the dear Ellen thought this a famous chance not to be overlooked. The widower was at a loss what to do with his cows and poultry and the wool of his sheep, now the old wife was gone. Mat was invited to the wake, and before the funeral was well over, the widower and the crafty old fox had made a bargain for the fair Ellen's hand, as to the small matter of the heart, that was of no consequence, and as a matter of course would be won when she was endowed with all old Jim Delany's worldly goods. Great was the consternation of the affianced, when her father with the greatest coolness told her that she was to be married in the short space of a month from that date. She was very indig nant, as well she might be, that the matter should have been settled without her consent, but her father gave her to understand that it was useless to rebel and that the best thing she could do would be to put a good face on the occasion. As to her former lover, he would soon get another sweetheart, as to marrying for love that was all stuff. When Ellen found that it was useless to remonstrate, she dried her tears and said that if it must be so, it must, but told her father that she must have money to buy wedding clothes, as she was in want of every article of wearing appearel and should not like to come to the old man directly for money to buy clothes. The father was so well satisfied with her dutiful acquiescence in his scheme, that he gave her an order on one of the stores in the town to buy anything she required, not limiting her as to the exact outlay, but recommending economy in her purchases. Ellen got all the things she wanted, and contrived to make out a very handsome outfit. WEDDING and Wooing in Canada are not always conducted in the sober, matter of fact way, that they usually are in the old country among the lower order, especially where the parties are among the excitable sons and daughters of the Emerald Isle, who often contrive to give a good deal of éclat to affairs of this kind. From a number of curious facts that I have been made acquainted with, I will select a few for the entertainment of my reader. First on the list stands a bridal with something of romance in it. In short, an Irish Lochinvar. It is nearly twenty years ago since the event of the story I am about to tell, took place in the township of. An avaricious old settler whom I shall call Mat Doolan, had a pretty smart daughter named Ellen, who was attached to a young man, the son of a neighbouring farmer, and as long as no better suiter offered, old Mat suffered the young couple The breakfast was plentiful; the bride showed to keep company as lovers, but as ill luck would no reluctance, but appeared in excellent spirits, have it, the wife of an old man in the neighbour-bore all the joke and compliments with a good hood died, leaving her spouse, a cross grained, miserly old creature, at liberty to take to himself a third, for I believe that the old wretch had starved to death with scanty fare and hard work two honest wives. The important day at length arrived, the guests arrived from all quarters-old men and young ones, wives, widows, and maidens-a goodly party. The season was early spring, the roads were in a bad state-half mud, half ice-too bad for a sleigh; so the wedding party arranged to go, some on horseback, and others in lumber waggons and ox-carts. grace, and finally set off at the head of the equestrians, declaring she would have a race to the church with one of the bridemaids. Just as they reached the concession line near which the old sweetheart lived, who should ride out of the should ride up to me as I was going to church but Rody Calaghan! Surely, thinks I, but the rogue is going to pay me that which he owes me. His errand, however, was on a matter matrimonial. He was going to be married on the following day, and his call was simply to ask if it country to the bride's father's house to marry him and his betrothed-the license was all ready, and no impediment to his happiness. I was in a hurry, and said, "Yes, yes." I would be there at the hour named. I was punctual to the time, as I always like to be on such occasions; but just as I was preparing to enter the room where all the bride's family and friends were assembled together, Rody drew me on one side, and said, clearing ahead of the cavalcade, but the gentleman himself, dressed in a new suit, as smart as could be! It had all been arranged beforehand. The bride, at a signal from her lover, gave the reins and a slashing cut to her poney, which dashed forward in good style, leaving the bridal cortége far in the rear. Away they went, stop-would be convenient for me to go out into the ping for no obstacle-clearing root, stone, and stream; nothing checked them. "They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. The wild shouts and yells of the bride's astonished companions only seemed to give greater spirit to the race. Gallantly the young man led the way, and fearlessly his fair partner kept her seat. At the church they were joined by some chosen friends of the bridegroom-the parson was ready-the license, duly attested, was forthcoming-and the discomforted father of the bride and the mortified husband, that was to have been, had the vexation of meeting the happy couple coming out of the church gates as they went in! The laugh went against the two old men, who had been fairly outwitted by a young girl of seventeen. The young folks declared it was fine fun, and the old ones said Ellen was a lass of spirit and deserved a young husband; and one old farmer was so well pleased that he invited the young couple to eat their wedding dinner at his house, and so ended the runaway wedding. Of all pride, there is no pride like Irish pride, and an Irishman will bring all his native shrewdness and talent to bear him out in the support of his darling principle, trying to convince you that he is richer, and grander, and a better man than he really is. The Irishman calls it pride; but, in fact, it is nothing but vanity carried to an absurd excess. As an instance, I will relate as nearly as I am able, an amusing story told with singular humor by an Irish clergyman, who greatly enjoyed the joke, though he was the sufferer by it in the end. It was Diamond cut Diamond, and no mistake. So now for the story of HOW THE PARSON OUTWITTED THE RRIDEGROOM "Och, Parson, but ye're the kind man ye are, and I'll be thinkin' it's yerself will do me the good turn just at this partickler time." Thinks I to myself, it's to borrow money of me, Master Rody, that you are coming the blarney over me so strongly. But no, as if guessing my thoughts, he let me see a handful of dollar notes as if by accident, which he had cajoled some friend out of, I suppose. "Ye see, yer Riverence, what it is. I don't want to look small potatoes before them," and he pointed significantly to the party within the room, "and so I shall just put down six dollars on the book as a wedding fee to yerself." "Oh, very well," says I, "I understand-that's all right Rody, and I am glad to see you so honestly inclined." "But Parson, dear," says he, again in a great hurry, "you know its only a make-believe, jist to make them think that I am as well off as she is, and cut a bit of a shine before them all for prides' sake, and so you'll be so good as to give me back the dollars when no one is looking on-sly like." "And so that's it, is it Rody Calaghan," says I," and what's to become of my dues and the money you owe me?" "Sure thin your Riverence won't be thinking of the dirty rags jist at this saison," he added in a coaxing tone, laying his hand on my sleeve, yer honor knows that you would not do the thing shabby and they looking on all the while." I laughed to myself, and thought I would play the knave a trick for his blarney and roguery. A young fellow, whom I shall call Rody Calaghan, contrived to get in my debt to the amount of some eight dollars. The rogue wheedled me into lending him the money when I happened to The ceremony was over, and the bride and the be in an unfortunately good humor, and from that brides-maid all kissed round as a finale, when time never a copper could I get from him in pay-out steps Rody from the throng and comes forward ment. In despair, I gave the eight dollars up in with a most self-important air, and lugging out a my own mind as one of my bad debts, of which large leathern purse, took from it notes to the I had more than enough, and I ceased to think at amount of six dollars, counting them out one by all about Master Body; when one day, whol one with great exactness, holding them up sepa rately to the light as if to ascertain that they were good ones, and bidding me count them twice over that there might be no mistake. I thought of Gil Blas and the six reals that he so ostenta tiously dropped into the mendicant's hat one by one, but I entered into the humour of the thing, and paid some compliments to the bride, saying that my friend Rody seemed to value her very highly if one might judge by the price he had paid for her, while Rody affected to think on the contrary that he had been very shabby in paying so little for so great a prize, throwing a peculiar expression of intelligence into his cunning grey eyes which he expected me to understand, as in fact I most perfectly did. I carefully pocketted the whole of the six dollars, taking no notice of the agonized look with which Rody watched my proceedings. At last he could endure the suspense no longer, and beckoning me aside said, "Now your Riverence will you be pleased jist to hand over them six dollars again as we agreed ?" "As you proposed," I said, very coolly; "Ishall lend myself to no such rogue's trick, you owe me two dollars and the marriage fee yet, so there is an end of the matter." Rody looked confounded, but said not a word. Just before I left the house, he came up with his bride and several of his own folks and said, "Yer Riverence must do us the favor of giving us your company to a hot supper at our own house this evening." I demurred, but, however, curiosity got the better, and I promised to look in at eight o'clock, and rode home. A famous feast there was; roast, boiled, and fried; pies, cakes, and tarts of all imaginable sorts and sizes, and at the head of the table a most uncommon fine roast goose swimming in gravy. I had the fellow of it fattening in a pen in my own yard, or I thought I had. I had bought it of Rody's own mother. "Sure and its no wonder the craythur should be like its own brother," said Rody, as he heaped my plate and wished me a good appetite. The first news that I heard in the morning was that my fat goose had disappeared. I need hardly say that I had supped off him at the wedding feast. If it had not been so well cooked, I would have sent the rogue to the penitentiary for three months. This last speech of course was only said for fun, but the truth was that the parson was too kind hearted to distress the newly wedded bride and her family, by a public exposure of Rody's delinquency. DEATH OF JOAN OF ARC. "TEN thousand men," says M. Michelet himself, ten thousand men wept;" and of these ten knitted together by cords of superstition. What thousand the majority were political enemies else was it but her constancy, united with her angelic gentleness, that drove the fanatic English soldier-who had sworn to throw a faggot on her scaffold, as his tribute of abhorrence, that did so, that fulfilled his vow-suddenly to turn away a penitent for life, saying everywhere that he had seen a dove rising upon wings to heaven from the ashes where she had stood? What else drove the executioner to kneel at every shrine for pardon for his share in the tragedy? And, if all this were insufficient, then I cite the closing act of her life as valid on her behalf, were all other testimonies against her. The executioner had been directed to apply his torch from below. He did 80. The fiery smoke rose upwards in billowing volumes. A Dominican monk was then standing almost at her side. Wrapt up in his sublime office, he saw not the danger, but still persisted in his prayers. Even then, when the last enemy was racing up the fiery stairs to seize her, even at that moment did this noblest of girls think only for him, the one friend that would not forsake last breath to care for his own preservation, but her, and not for herself: bidding him with her to leave her to God. That girl, whose latest breath ascended into this sublime expression of self-oblivion, did not utter the word recant either with her lips or in her heart. No; she did not, though one should rise from the dead to swear it. alike. Bishop of Beauvais! thy victim died in fire upon a scaffold, thou upon a down bed. But for the departing minutes of life, both are oftentimes death are opening, and flesh is resting from its At the farewell crisis, when the gates of struggles, oftentimes the tortured and the torturer have the same truce from carnal torment; sometimes, kindle into dreams. When the mor both sink together into sleep; together both, tal mists were gathering fast upon you two, Bishop and Shepherd-girl-when the pavilions of life were closing up their shadowy curtains about you, let us try, through the gigantic gloom, to deci pher the dying features of your separate visions. The shepherd-girl that had delivered Franceshe, from her dungeon, she, from her baiting at entered her last dream, saw Domrémy, saw the the stake, she, from her duel with fire-as she fountain of Domrémy, saw the pomp of forests in which her childhood had wandered. That Easter festival, which man had denied to her languishing heart-that resurrection of spring-time, which the darkness of dungeons had intercepted from her, hungering after the glotious liberty of forests -were by God given back into her hands, as jewels that had been stolen from her by robbers, With those, perhaps (for the minutes of dreams can stretch into ages,) was given back to her by God the bliss of childhood. By special privilege, for her might be created, in this farewell dream, a second childhood, innocent as the first; but not, like that, sad with the gloom of a fearful mission in the rear. The mission had now been fulfilled. The storm was weathered, the skirts even of that mighty storm were drawing off. The blood, that she was to reckon for, had been exacted; the tears, that she was to shed in secret, had been paid to the last. The hatred to herself in all eyes had been faced steadily, had been suffered, had been survived. And in her last fight upon the scaffold, she had triumphed gloriously; victoriously she had tasted the stings of death. For all except this comfort from her farewell dream, she had died-died amidst the tears of ten thousand enemies-died amidst the drums and trumpets of armies-died amidst peals re to take your brief: I know of somebody that will be your counsel. Who is this that cometh from Domrémy? Who is she that cometh in bloody coronation robes from Rheims? Who is she that cometh with blackened flesh from walking the furnaces of Rouen? This is she, the shepherd girl, counsellor that had none for herself, whom I choose, Bishop, for yours. She it is, I engage, that shall take my lord's brief. She it is, Bishop, that would plead for you: yes Bishop, SHE-when Heaven and Earth are silent. doubling upon peals, volleys upon volleys, from AN ORIGINAL SKETCH IN A HOMELY the saluting clarions of martyrs. FRAME. BY ELIZA COOK. Bishop of Beauvais ! because the guilt-burthened man is in dreams haunted and waylaid by the most frightful of his crimes, and because upon that fluctuating mirror-rising (like the mocking GEORGE CLAYTON was as good-tempered and mirrors of mirage in Arabian deserts) from the fens of death-most of all are reflected the sweet well-conducted a young man,--taking the countenances which the man has laid in ruins; worldly average of temper and morals, -as therefore I know, Bishop, that you also, entering one would meet with among a thousand. He your final dream, saw Domrémy. That fountain, had served a respectable apprenticeship as a of which the witnesses spoke so much, showed cabinet-maker to an old-established firm, and itself to your eyes in pure morning dews; but at the age of twenty-five, found himself foreneither dews, nor the holy dawn, could cleanse man of the workshop, and in a condition to away the bright spots of innocent blood upon its "marry and settle in life." George had been surface. By the fountain, Bishop, you saw a born of the humblest of the middle classes, woman seated, that hid her face. But as you left an orphan at fourteen, and had been put draw near, the woman raises her wasted features. out in the world by the united means of a few Would Domrémy know them again for the fea- kind-hearted relatives, who wisely thought tures of her child? Ah, but you know them, that pity and Christian-like sympathy would Bishop, well! Oh, mercy! what a groan was be much more valuable if rendered practical, that which the servants, waiting outside the Bishop's dream at his bedside, heard from his by giving the lad a little moral looking after, laboring heart, as at this moment he turned and a trade.-and George well repaid them. away from the fountain and the woman, seeking He grew into a sober and industrious man. rest in the forests afar off. Yet not so to escape and managed to save a hundred pounds during the woman, whom once again he must behold the four years he was courting Emma Serle, before he dies. In the forests, in which he prays a very nice-looking, fine-hearted girl, the for pity, will he find a respite? What a tumult, sister of one of his shopmates, and who seemed what a gathering of feet is there! In glades, to possess all the qualities most desirable in where only wild deer should run, armies and na- the wife of an artizan. They seemed well tions are assembling; and, towering in the fluctuat- suited to each other, but George had a failing, ing crowd, are phantoms that belong to departed it was that of being somewhat over-bearing hours. There is the great English prince, regent and exacting where he could control; and of France. There is my lord of Winchester, the Emma had a spot in her disc, it was in being princely cardinal, that died and made no sign. apt to become silent and reserved if any There is the Bishop of Beauvais, clinging to the shelter of thickets. What building is that which mortifying incident jostled against her spirit; hands so rapid are raising? Is it a martyr's scafbut there seemed every probability of their fold? Will they burn the child of Domrémy a forming a very contented couple; and when second time? No: it is a tribunal that rises to George stood at the altar one fine July mornthe clouds and two nations stand around it, ing, in his blue surtout, with Emma beside waiting for a trial. Shall my lord of Beauvais him, in her neat grey silk, the clergyman had sit again upon the judgment-seat, and again a private opinion that they were a remarkably number the hours for the innocent? Ah! no: good-looking pair. A pleasant little dinner he is the prisoner at the bar. Already all is at the bride's father's and a ramble in the waiting: the mighty audience is gathered, the suburbs, filled up the sunshiny hours, and Court is hurrying to their seats, the witnesses are that day two months we saw them snugly arrayed, the trumpets are sounding, the judge is ensconced in a pretty four-roomed house, in going to take his place. Oh! but this is sudden, the neighbourhood of Camden Town. CleanMy lord, have you no counsel? "Counsel I liness and comfort pervaded the little domicile, have none: in heaven above, or on earth beneath, with Emma as the sole presiding spirit, blend counsellor there is none now that would take a brief from me: all are silent." Is it, indeed, ing in her own proper person, cook, housecome to this? Alas! the time is short, the maid, and page. Everything went on smoothly tumult is wondrous, the crowd stretches away into for some few months; her whole attention inânity, but yet I will search in it for somebody was given to George, for she loved him truly |