"In time, Philip, in time! Do you love me, my dear brother?" The younger Cavalier looked up in the speaker's face with amazement, and then throwing his arm round his neck, exclaimed, "You know I do Louis!"

"Then go back to the heights, and take care of your precious days, Philip: for I tell you, that, if you are in this conflict tonight, my thoughts will not be my own. I have more need of the clear head than of the strong hand, to guide yonder brave but undisciplined men,—and will you add to my perplexities, Philip ?"

The boy's bright colour faded, and his head drooped, as he said dejectedly, "I will do as you bid me, brother."

Cavalier pressed him to his heart: That is well my noble boy! I love you all the better for your bold purpose, and better still that you can submit to disappointment. God knows if I do not love you too well, for I feel that to lose you would almost break my heart. Away, then, to the upper hills! it grows late.' So saying, he disengaged himself hastily from the lad, and rushed down the rocks. As he looked back now and then through the 'deepening twilight, he discerned Philip still standing in a melancholy attitude, and repeatedly waved his hand to him to depart. But it was not till Louis had entirely vanished from his sight, that the gallant boy turned, with a heavy sigh, and with lingering steps began to ascend the mountain,

Cavalier's plans had been wisely laid. He was aware, that a blow must be immediately struck, to revive the drooping spirits of the insurgents. He knew that reinforcements for Montrevel's party were on the march, and would probably arrive the next day; and that no time was to be lost. Before midnight, the storm commenced, as if in league with the oppressed; it was accompanied by a violent wind, and, in the midst of its fury, his followers, divided into parties, approached the camp of Montrevel unperceived, from three quarters, and burst upon the bewildered soldiers, while the thunder roared over their beads, and the hurricane whirled their light tents into the air. Flushed with success, the assailants piked their victims without mercy, and pursued them into the very outskirts of the town.

Cavalier alone was cool in the midst of the general confusion; and his ear was the first to catch the sound of drums beating to arms within the town. He divined the truth instantly. Seeing the approach of the tempest, the officer sent to the aid of Montrevel had hurried forward, and had quartered his troops among the inhabitants, not two hours before the attack of the Camisards; and now it required the utmost powers of the young leader to bring together his scattered and raging adherents, and draw them off in good order to the mountains. He succeeded, however; and by turning occasionally to face his antagonists, then flying as if in consternation, tempted them on from the plains, into the broken soil at the base of the mountains. Before this was accomplished, the brief fury of the tempest had spent itself; the clouds were breaking away; and the moon, nearly full, looked out at times, from her quiet chamber in the sky, on the scene with unwonted brilliancy. Encouraged by this circumstance, the hot-headed young officer who commanded the fresh troops of the royalists, suffered himself to be lured among the hills; and then, soon finding his error, endeavoured to fight his way back with a bravery worthy of the sons of freedom themselves. The slaughter among his followers was great; and they might perhaps have been utterly cut to pieces, had Cavalier retained the same presence of mind, which had marked him throughout the night. But, while was engaged in superintending the motions of his troops, he suddenly perceived a conflict going on, upon the very edge of a cliff at no great distance, which made his blood run cold. It was a boy,—sword in hand,—fighting most gallantly with a young royalist officer. His cap was of,-the moon shone full on his face, it was Philip! Cavalier sprang towards him, but at the same moment he was himself set upon by two soldiers,

and compelled to fight for his own life. Still he glanced continually at the rock beyond; he saw that Philip was unaware of the precipice behind,—that his antagonist gained upon him,→→ that the boy was yielding, retreating, but still parrying the thrusts aimed at his body; Cavalier uttered a warning cry, but is was unheard, and in an instant more, as Philip again stepped back to avoid the desperate lunge of his foe, he disappeared! A mist came over the eyes of Cavalier; he fought like a blind man ; and had not some of his own friends come to his rescue, that night would have seen two of the boldest spirits of Cevennes for ever extinguished. As it was, his faculties seemed benumbed; and deprived of his wise command, the mountaineers suffered the soldiers to extricate themselves from their perilous position, and march back with some show of order to their quarters, under the grey dawn.

This was but one of a thousand conflicts, which those unhappy regions beheld. But, whether in defeat or victory, from that night the private and profound sorrows of Cavalier found no utterance. The gravity of premature manhood was on his brow; and, having but one object for which to live, bis energies were wholly absorbed in the cause of freedom. The uneducated son of a peasant, he had naturally imbibed those superstitions, which had led him to yield all deference to the claims of the maniac prophetess; and many a time, in the dead watches of the night, did he groan in spirit as he remembered her murder; many a time did the tears gush from his eyes in those solitary hours, as he recollected the heroic boy, the darling of his heart, whom he had seen dashed in pieces, as it were, before his face. The fortunes of the fight had led him far from the dreadful spot before daylight; and no funeral rites had honoured the object of such fond affection; but his early virtue, his precocious courage, and sad fate, were treasured in the bosom of his brother.

For weeks and months the weary contest went on. The valour and cool judgment of Cavalier had exalted him to supremacy above the other leaders of the Camisards; his fame had spread far and wide; and, when he had succeeded in cutting off a large detachment of the royal troops near Matinargue, Montrevel was recalled; and a general of no less reputation than Marshal Villars was sent against the once despised rebels of the Cevennes. In a few months more, Villars himself came to the conclusion, that the warfare must be interminable; it was possible to harass and distress, but not to conquer. So indomitable was the spirit of the enemy, so impregnable the fastnesses of their mountains, that all hope of putting an end to the war by force of arms was abandoned by this able leader. And in the heart of Cavalier, who beheld the incessant sufferings of the peasantry from fatigue and famine, there also arose a secret longing for the return of peace to their valleys. Fearful was this conscientious young man, however, lest the voice of inclination should drown the commands of duty; he scarcely dared trust his own judgment; and it was not till he ascertained, that ten thousand rebels would lay down their arms if fitting conditions should be offered, that he consented to hold an amicable parley with the enemy.

An interview first took place between Cavalier and Lalande, an officer of high rank under Marshal Villars. Lalande surveyed the worn garments and pale cheeks of the young hero, whose deeds had reached the ear and troubled mind of Louis the Fourteenth, in the midst of his mighty foreign wars; he looked upon the body-guard of the rebel chief, and saw there, too, signs of poverty and extreme physical suffering; and believed that he understood how to deal with men in such a condition. After a few words of courtesy, he drew forth a large and heavy purse of gold, and extended it towards Cavalier. The mild eye of the youth rested on it a moment with surprise; he looked in the officer's face, as if unable to comprehend his meaning; then, composedly folding his arms and stepping back, he shook his head, with an expression of countenance so cold, resolute, and dignified, that Lalande blushed at his own proffer. Glancing at the poor fellows who stood behind Cavalier, with ready address

he intimated that the sum was but intended for a free gift to relieve their distresses, and scattered the glittering coin on the turf before them. Their eyes rested on it wishfully, as they thought of their half-famished wives and children; but, so perfect was the subordination into which they had been brought by their extraordinary chief, that not a man stirred hand or foot, till after a brief conference, Cavalier signified his pleasure that they should accept the donative. This was not till he had made satisfactory preliminary arrangements with Lalande, and a final interview had been appointed between Lalande and himself.

It was on the 6th of May, 1704, that the renowned French marshal, the antagonist of Marlborough,-descended into the Garden of the Recollects, at St. Césaire, near Nismes, to discuss peace and war with the son of a mountain peasant. He first reached the appointed spot; a grass-plot surrounded by formal gravel-walks and trim hedges, bright with the verdure of spring. He stood musing by a fountain, careless of the songs of a thousand birds; for the interests of his master were at his heart; and he was eager to terminate a contest, most annoying in the present crisis of the monarch's affairs. Cavalier approached him with a brow equally perturbed; for, though the suffering of his countrymen had made him resolve on peace, if it could be honourably obtained, yet the forms of his departed friend and brother had haunted his dreams through the past night. His own wrongs swelled in his bosom; and he felt, that Peace, with her sweetest smiles, could not bring back the murdered to cheer the loneliness of his lot. Sad, therefore, were the tones of his voice, and melancholy the aspect of his countenance, as the conference opened between him and his noble adversary; and Villars looked on him with a deep admiration and sympathy. He knew, from common report, what had been the keenest trials Cavalier had ever experienced: and judged rightly, that, as the season of the year returned, which had been marked by events of pain, the jocund voices of spring could bring no gaiety to a heart so full of bitter associations. For a time, he spoke of the objects for which they had met, but with a military frankness, calculated to place the uncourtierlike Cavalier at his ease, questioned him of himself and his career; and gave just praises to the troops he had formed from raw mountaineers. At last the feelings uppermost in the heart of Cavalier could no longer be suppressed, and he broke forth, "My countrymen are born free and fearless, and from their tenderest years can defend themselves against oppression. I had a brother, General

He could not go on, but Villars did not wait. "I know you had; a hero of fifteen; the tale of that gallant boy's fate has reached me since I came into these parts. You might well be proud of him."

Cavalier's eyes were swimming in tears, as he repeated, in a stifled voice," Proud of him! I prized him while he was mine, and, when he was gone, I thought I had never prized him enough, -noble, loving, beloved Philip !"

"Were you satisfied, perfectly satisfied, that he perished in the pass of Montluc?"

"Alas! he disappeared; I saw him pressed over the brink of a precipice; I knew it was not possible for flesh and bones to be dashed on the rocks below without destruction."

"Yet, if you remember, torrents of rain had fallen scarce an hour before; at least, so they tell me ; and a deep basin of water had been formed under the cliff whence he fell."

Cavalier looked wildly in the Marshal's face, but spoke not. "If," continued Villars," he should have escaped death, should have fallen into the hands of our troops, what ransom would you pay for such a prisoner?"

"Myself, my liberty,-my life! I have nought else!" cried the young man.

Villars turned away, a benevolent smile lighting up his warworn features, and raised his sword; the party of soldiers, who were drawn up at a little distance in a hollow square, opened, and there stood the slender stripling, Philip; in another moment

he had bounded like a mountain deer into thearms of his astonished brother, whispering, as he clung round his neck, “Will you forgive me, Louis?"

"He is yours," resumed the Marshal, dashing the tears from his eyes; "we demand no ransom for those that wear no beards, even though taken sword in hand, as this young goose was, ten minutes after he came dripping and dizzy out of the water. The swords of our dead Frenchmen were scattered too plentifully about him. Carry him off, or I shall steal him; and teach him loyalty, I pray you; for five years hence he will match us all. And now for business."

Briskly indeed the business went on. The cloud had vanished from the brow of Cavalier, the load had been lifted from his heart, and, both parties having the same object honorably in view, a friendly arrangement was speedily concluded, in which the interest of the monarch and of the long oppressed subject. were alike consulted.

It was not till many years after, that the Governor of Jersey, the veteran of Almanza,-the trusted servant of the English crown. quietly departed this life of shadows in the ordinary course of nature, leaving behind a high and unblemished reputation. That honoured officer was Louis Cavalier, once the rebel Peasant of the Cevennes.

THE FATHER'S STORY.

"OH! children, 'tis a mournful thing,
To think what dangers lie
Around, about, our every path
Beneath the brightest sky.

Under the blue and waveless main

Whose waters seem to sleep, Are horrid rocks that lurk unseen; The landsman little knows I ween, The dangers of the deep!

Whilst you are sleeping in your beds,
How many on the sea

Are waiting for the morning light,
In doubt and agony.

'Twas in the good ship 'Argonaut,' That once I chanc'd to sail ; Swiftly we left the English land, With a free and favouring gale.

And onward, onward sped our ship,
For many a day and night;
We trusted soon our port to gain;
And as we skimm'd the wat'ry plain
Our hearts were gay and light.

Our hearts were glad and light, but soon
The joy was chang'd to woe;
And terror sat on every brow,
As the tempest loud did blow.

The crested waves rag'd fearfully
Around the straining bark;

And she sped away like a frighten'd thing
Over the waters dark.

There was no star in all the sky,
And only the lightning's gleam
Showed our pale faces, each to each,
Like spectres in a dream.

Over the deck the waters rush'd,

As if a foe to seek;
And suddenly arose the cry-
'A leak! a leak! a leak!'

A thousand miles and more away
From the green land were we !
A trembling, miserable band,
At the mercy of the sea.

Slowly and dismally the light
Of morning on us broke ;
We gaz'd around us anxiously-
But words we seldon spoke.

It was a sad and fearful thing,

To listen to the cries

For help from those we could not help
Or soothe their agonies.

All day and night we toil'd and strove
To stop the leak-in vain ;

We might as well have sought with words
To still the hurricane.

And slowly, slowly it increased,

Yet still afloat she kept;

At the mercy of the winds and waves,
That round and o'er us swept.

Six weary nights and days had gone,
Our hope began to fail;
When a sailor from the main-mast top,
Cried out A sail! a sail !'

We ran unto our vessel's side,

We climb'd the sinking wreck ;

And our tears fell fast and our faint hearts beat, When just where the sea and the sky did meet, We saw a little speck.

A little speck on the ocean wide;

Yet, oh! what hope it gave,

Each other's bands we grasped; we smil'd,
There was joy upon our features wild!
For we hop'd that ship might save.

We watch'd her many an anxious hour;
And through the long, long night,
We only talk'd of the stranger ship,
And long'd for morning light.

How life-long was that night. At last

The stars began to pale;

And we crowded round the shrouds again,
To see the welcome sail.

A faint blush of the rosy morn,
Just ting'd the fading grey;
And told unto our anxious hearts,
The coming of the day.

The mist clear'd from the sea-the sun
Uprose and brightly shone !

We look'd into each other's eyes,
And shriek'd with terrible surprise-
The stranger ship was gone!

We thought it must have been a dream!
But each one strain'd his eye!
There was nothing around us but the sea,
The weary sea and sky!

Hour after hour, we watch'd the spot
Where we had seen her lie;

That long'd for bark! then down we sank
In silent agony.

Our strength was failing fast, not long

Our ship could keep afloat!

At last she sank, and there were we,
Six hopeless wretches on the sea,

In a crazy open boat.

And many sufferings were ours
To bear; but, oh! the worst
Was on that wide, wide sea to lie,
Unshelter'd from the burning sky,

And feel a raging thirst!

Our throats were parch'd-our blood shot eyes
Glar'd wildly o'er the main ;

Dear children, may you never feel
Such fierce excess of pain.

A week and a day in the boat we lay,
Hope, feeling well nigh past;
We almost wished each coming wave,
Might prove a sorrow-ending grave :
God's mercy came at last!

We knew not we were sav'd, and long
Insensible did lie;

UPON a height near Venasso, is a convent of Capuchins, in which dwelt four canons, who, among the peasants of the neighbouring villages, enjoyed a very high reputation for exemplary charity and devotion. All day long were heard within their walls the tinkling of bells and the chanting of psalms; at all hours the chapel of the monastery was open; there, before a miraculous statue of St. Cyprian, were almost always found the holy brothers kneeling at the altar, and inflicting on themselves the most severe flagellations. About the beginning of last summer a carmelite brother, accompanied by a muleteer, passed near the convent of the capuchins. The mule on which the holy friar was seated carried likewise a considerable sum of money, which his rider had just brought from Rome. The carmelite was jogging leisurely along, the evening was fine, and the sun just about to set. The angelus sounded; and the good father was just replying devoutly with the sign of the cross, when he received a violent blow on his back. On his turning round in affright, two men laid hold of him, while, a few paces further, two others were seen with levelled carbines. The muleteer escaped, and concealed himself behind a bush. After a few jests, the hands or the carmelite brother were bound, and he was led away in the

direction of the monastery, where the party disappeared behind some trees. On the following day Signor Filiberto, a linendraper at Naples, received from his brother, the carmelite monk, a letter to the following effect:-"Signor, at four o'clock this morning you will bring to the square in front of the capuchin convent, at Venasso, the sum of five hundred scudi; if not, one hour later, you will find there the corpse of your brother. Silence, or death will be your own portion." Signor Filiberto had only two hours before him. He trembled, for he was well aware of the promptitude with which the Neapolitan brigands were wont to carry their menaces into execution. He hastened to several of his friends to demand their counsel. He went to the magistrates of the city, and accompanied by a strong body of military, they set off for the place indicated. It was already past four o'clock when they approached the spot. Filiberto ran on before his companions, but on his arrival found four men, with the murdered body of his brother still writhing at their feet. "You have already assassinated him!"—he cried with all his might. The soldiers now appeared on every side, flight was impossible, and the brigands surrendered without attempting the slightest resistance. They were loaded with chains, and conducted to Naples, where they confessed that they were the capuchin monks of the convent of Venasso, and that they had already for several years exercised the profession of knights of the road. They were tried, and condemned to death.

MY PARTNER FÖR LIFE.

Let's take this world as one wide scene, Through which in frail but buoyant boat, With skies now dark and now serene, Together, thou and I must float; Beholding oft, on either shore,

Bright spots where we should love to stay, But time plies swift his flying oar, And on we speed, far-far away.

Should chilling winds and rains come on, We'll raise our awning 'gainst the shower, Sit closer till the storm is gone,

And smiling, wait a sunnier hour; And if that sunnier hour should shine,

We'll know its brightness cannot stay, But happy when it's thine and mine, Complain not when it fades away.

So reach we both at last that fall,
Down which, life's current, all must go,
The dark, the brilliant, destined all
To sink into the void below;

Nor even that hour shall want its charms,
If side by side still fond we keep,

And calmly in each other's arms
Together link'd go down the steep.

THE CHANGE OF FASHION.

Or all the odd prejudices that ever made man absurd, the oddest is that which constitues a fondness for old fashions. All dress constantly varies in Europe; and the dress of every quarter of a century not merely supersedes that of its preceding period, but makes it ridiculous. Yet, formed for fluctuation as it is, and unimportant as the mere fashion must be to any rational understanding, there is nothing in art or nature that seems to cling so strongly to the recollections, nay, to become a part of the mind,

as the most extravagant irregularities of old costume. There are individuals in existenee still, who think that this world has all gone wrong since gentlemen began the disuse of hair-powder and ladies gave up hoops. Among that generation the fall of the French throne is extensively accounted for on the ground of leaving off white silk stockings in the streets, wearing pantaloons instead of breeches, and dispensing with cocked-hats and bagwigs in every-day life.

We remember to have heard an old gentleman, who had mixed a good deal in public life, say, that a vast deal of the eminence of the men of his time was connected with their costume. He spoke of the eloquence of the throne as it deserved. "But," said he, "it is impossible for any one now to form a just conception of its power. You should have seen the great orator in his rolled stockings, velvet embroidered, long-pocketed waistcoat, and bag-wig; he was majesty itself-be was irresistible; no, I shall never see any thing so grand." We had no consolation for this mourner: the bag-wig day has certainly gone by. There were lately many venerable persons who preserved the relic of old times and tastes embodied in a pig-tail. This was a fashion in which personal vanity or personal pleasure could certainly have had no place; for what, under a dislocation of the neck, could enable the wearer to have even a glimpse of his own queue! It was treasured as a tribute to the days of auld langsyne. There are a few of those mementos remaining; they are lopped off, with the wearers, by the unrelenting hand of Atropos, Peace be with them!

But there are other fondnesses for costume, founded on other sympathies. The late Lord Kenyon, also a very clever person, and one of whom the bar and the bench were equally proud in his day, was conspicuous for an attachment to his coats and breeches. Erskine protested, and was "ready to protest in any company," that the learned lord's green coat was an acquaintance of his for at least a dozen years. This testimony is corroborated by a modern reminiscence. "When," says he, "I last saw the learned lord, he had been chief justice for nearly fourteen years, and his coat seemed coeval with his appointment to office. It must have been originally black; but time had mellowed it down to the appearance of sober green, which was what Erskine meant by his allusion to its colour. I have seen him sit at Guildhall, in the month of July, in a pair of black leather breeches; and the exhibition of shoes frequently soled, afforded equal proof of the attention which he paid to economy in every article of his dress." To these unfortunate shoes, Dr. Dibdin bears a similar testimony.

"Once in the case of an action brought for the non-fulfilment of a contract on a large scale, for shoes, the question mainly was whether or not they were well and soundly made, and with the best materials. A number of witnesses were called. One of them, a first-rate character in the gentle craft, being closely questioned, returned contradictory answers, when the chief justice observed, pointing to his own shoes, which were regularly bestridden by the broad silver buckle of the day, 'Were the shoes anything like these?' 'No, my lord,' replied the evidence, 'they were a good deal better, and more genteeler!' The court were convulsed with laughter, in which the chief justice heartily joined. But we should not have his dress complete, were we to omit the black velvet smalls, worn for many years and threadbare by constant friction, which he used to rub with most painful assiduity when catechising or brow-beating a witness."

This was a different kind of polish from Sir Fletcher Norton's, who, when pleading before Lord Mansfield on some question of manorial rights, chanced unfortunately to say, "My lord, I can illustrate the point by an instance in my own person; I myself have two little manors." The judge immediately interposed with one of his blandest smiles, "We all know it, Sir Fletcher."

LONDON AND PARISIAN FASHIONS.

DRESSES.—A Melange comprehending modes both of the autumn and spring has hitherto characterised the costumes, particularly those of the promenade, of the season; now however the long champs have fairly set us models for summer wear, of which our fashionables have not long been slow in availing themselves, if we may judge from the very elegant and beautiful varieties which are met with at places of fashionable resort.

There are some novelties of a pretty though somewhat fantastic nature, which will probably endure but for a brief period, while some introductions promise a long reign at least throughout the ensuing season.

A three-quarter height is very usually adopted with the corsage which is made frequently without any trimming whatever.

A pelerine lappel with piped edgings, perhaps three or four in number and laid closely together, is a frequent and admired addition.

A narrow effilé of the colour of the dress is also an edging which is not unusually adopted; these are generally seen with lappels eut into square tabs and are inserted in the intervening spaces.

For promenade dress trimmings round the borders, are in the great majority of instances discontinued.

Sleeves are tight indeed, notwithstanding the general opposition long manifested to this mode, it has completely gained ground and with our country women with whom the arm, as well as bust, is by no means the least considerable of those personal attractions they are allowed to possess, it will scarcely be very quickly altered, unless at the imperious mandate of some autocrat of fashion whose example is law.

A frequent style with tight sleeves is that of a lappel, cut at the edge with a mancheron of moderate depth, as well as width, cut with a border in a corresponding manner.

In skirts no definitive rules can be undeviatingly laid down. The centre is sometimes adorned in a manner to correspond with the corsage, it is at other times cut, left entirely plain. The latter style though for a time discontinued, has been revived in the beautiful silken tissues that have lately been introduced.

MATERIALS AND COLORS.-The chusans and chinés still glitter in all their beautiful varieties, and rich mingling of colour and device, and are worn in every rank, varying of course in novelty and richness and elaborateness of design. The Balzarines are likewise in great favor.

Pekins, taffetas, moires, are made in every unequalled style and combinations of color; of the former the Moire Ninon, the Moire Pompadour and the Moires Brochées striped and shaded are in the highest vogue.

The pekins, glaçés and à la mode de Paris are elegant fabrics. BONNETS, CAPS, &c.—In the forms of capotes, a considerable difference may be perceived not only from those of last season, but even many of a more recent date, and thus we observe side by side, the bonnet with the brim entirely off the face and an ample curtain, and another with full brim and quite exposed in the neck.

These as well as other introductions in form are seen in great varieties of material, those in poult de soie, white, blue or rose colored, ornamented with flowers or plain, crape embellished with flowers, Italian straw lined with silk glacé, and shaded rose color or blue with trimmings of ribbons or flowers, in the same style especially.

Chetry color or pale yellow is in vogue.

There is a capote small in form which is called à l'empire, of crape, this is a great favorite.

Another form is that of an inclined front, or one reaching much over the forepart of the face and off the side.

This is excellently adapted for displaying to advantage, a rich cluster of side curls, or other decorative formation of the hair at the side.

VARIETIES. The spring ribbons are beyond precedent beautiful and varied. The shot ribbons, the chiné style and the shaded are in the greatest vogue. Gauze ribbons which had gone into disrepute for a considerable time past, have been revived with great success, and now form leading ornaments to both capotes of the lighter kind, as well as tocques and caps. They are mostly very broad; a rich grenadine ground with satin stripes beautifully shaded, are favorites; flowers are frequently scattered between the stripes which greatly enriches them.

At no time have flowers been so elaborately and artistically constructed; the numbers of new and exquisite varieties are beyond those of any former period. Any attempt at description would be fruitless, they must be seen, and it is the best and readiest way to inspect the stocks of some of the leading artists in the line. It may be observed that so great a delicacy and accuracy of imitation have been attained, that the largest as well as most delicate may, without outraging taste be adopted, and we now observe with the élite of the ton, as great variations in the size as in the species of flower.

THE BAL COSTUME AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE,-The cos. tumes of the age of Edward III., though exceedingly gorgeous and picturesque, are not so well understood as those of later periods of English history; and, as the projected masque or pageant about to be given at Buckingham palace is to be on a scale of expence and magnificence hitherto unrivalled, it would be both an absurdity and a piece of ignorance if incongruities and discrepancies were intruded through the blunders of mere dressmakers and persons unacquainted with the habiliments of the times. The costumes ought to be those of the days of Cressy and Poictiers, and in order to know what those dresses were, references must be made to the monuments of the times, an dto the illuminations of missals, and to painted glass. There are no portraits of the people of the reign of Edward III. extant, or to be seen but in the miniature effigies afforded by the emblazonments of books, the representations of painted windows, and the marble recumbent statues of heroes, heorines, knights and dames. Mr. Pratt, who arranged the tournament at Eglintoun, nearly three years ago, a thing of the kind the most splendid and glittering, has been making drawings from the tombs of the Black Prince at Canterbury, and from the tomb of Edward III. at Westminster Abbey, and from other places, missals, windows, &c., and has, by dint of a good deal of research and a good deal of trouble, been able to produce some appropriate costumes of the age in which those heroes flourished. We have seen some of these drawings, and some of the weapons and things to be worn by several noblemen who have applied to him on this occasion, and we can testify, as far as our judgment goes, to their correctness and elegance. It is no easy job to arrive at propriety in these things, but unless it be arrived at, the mask will be but a specimen of the bad taste and little knowledge of those who figure in it.

PERSONAL ADORNMENT is influenced by nothing more materially than a luxuriant crop of hair! To deprive the countenance of expression, what can contribute more than the absence of this natural ornament-which enhances the charms of Beauty, and gives grace and dignity to manhood.

The researches of the scientific of the present era have been particularly directed to the discovery of various adjuncts to personal adornment, and to this end the reproduction of the hair has occupied by far the greatest share and attention.

Of the numerous compounds professing to promote or reproduce the hair, few have survived-even in the name, whilst ROWLAND'S MACASSAR OIL, with a reputation already unparalleled, is still on the increase in public estimation. This celebrated oil, besides possessing the properties abovementioned, has the power of retaining the curl in its natural or acquired state-at the same time bestowing a brilliant gloss and silk-like softnessunequalled; and, when it is known that her Majesty and her Illustrious Consort have long Patronized "ROWLAND'S MACASSAR OIL," it is an authority which stamps its superior excellence and title to all attempts of a similar nature.