vulgarised it with wired-out locks, as in fig. 63 (p. 138). Later, the Puritans had it all their own way, and their righteous (?) horror of all that was beautiful was symbolised in their rigid and trying dress, and the muslin cap that strove to abolish what they believed a snare of Satan-a pretty face. In the middle of the seventeenth

century, we find women wearing their hair loose, and covered by a long couvrechef with or without a hood beneath it, descending in easy graceful folds almost to the feet. Charles II. obliterated the Puritan taste to a great extent, and the æsthetic element had a chance. We see in Vandyck's and Lely's pictures how graceful the fashion grew; indeed, the easy splendour of the whole costume

of Charles II.'s time has never been surpassed. But in head-dresses there was nothing very distinctive worn, rather a picturesque abandon of nature was preferred a string of pearls, a cloud of lace, and laisser-aller.

If our fair ladies would adopt the beauty of this costume, without its defects, we should have no more to

desire. It is painful to look on that picture, and then on this!

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries many monstrosities arose on the head, which we cannot wish to revive-exaggerations of styles pretty in themselves— enormous caps, and the thing called, perhaps in irony, a 'commode.' This we are daily expecting to see in modern drawing-rooms; for, besides its extreme uncomfortableness

and temporary nature, which alone would recommend it to the milliner, it fulfilled one of a lady's favourite requirements-it was very tall. The commode was a row, or series of rows one above another, of stiff plaited lace, that shot up from the face, unsupported, like a peacock's crest, sometimes to more than the face's length. Women had tried to be bullocks, they now tried to be birds; and though the crest, perhaps, gave piquancy to some faces, it utterly ruined any but a saucy or a stern one; the straight V-shaped body, the long skinny train, assisted to impart a birdlike appearance. We may see, however, that, to a cross old lady, the commode lent a sharp and threatening aspect, which might prove a sufficiently wholesome check on a family of unruly children. It must have been almost as powerful as a birch rod.

After this came the beautiful little coquettish Watteau cap, which we have lately adopted in an emasculated form; and then, about 1750, the ladies' heads began to swell and assume those proportions which speedily rendered woman so much higher an animal than man. This soon followed the introduction of hairpowder and wigs.

Hair-powder and Patches.

Hair-powder is said to have taken its rise from some of the ballad-singers at the fair at St. Germain's, whitening their heads in order to make themselves ridiculous. If so, no doubt because some shrewd eye had marked the effect of the powder in making them handsome.

No doubt hair-powder and wigs were carried ultimately to great excesses, both as regards uncleanness and extravagance of arrangement. The hair, from being simply and tastefully arranged, rose into mountains of wool, pomade, and meal; and there is no question that through the extreme and increasing difficulty of erecting them, as well as the expense of hairdressing, ladies frequently combed and brushed their hair but once in eight or even twelve weeks, sleeping in calashes or caps large enough to contain the greasy piles, and on the eve of balls scarcely at all; for in the season the manifold engagements of the hairdresser made it necessary to employ him days before the event, if he had not received notice sufficiently early to appoint a later date. The horrible results of these habits may be better imagined than described.

For all that, let it be remembered, there is nothing in the world so becoming as grey hair-powder, both to old and young. It softens the whole face, gives a strange

brilliancy to the eyes and complexion, and makes the eyebrows and eyelashes appear much darker than they really are. These considerations probably account for the length of time during which it continued in fashion. There is another fashion which has generally gone hand-in-hand with hair-powder, and which came in vogue during the reign of Charles I. and continued up to the end of the last century. The patch, as it first came in, was one of the most harmless and effective aids to beauty ever invented. It was but a tiny mole-like spot of black velvet or silk, which was used to draw attention to some particular feature, as well as to enhance, by contrast, the fairness of the cheek. Thus, if a girl was conscious of a pretty dimple in her chin, or of long eyebrows; if her forehead formed the best part of her face, or her mouth—she cunningly placed the little patch near it, and consequently every time you looked at her your eye was insensibly drawn by the patch to the best feature, so that you partly forgot any less handsome detail. To an accustomed eye, the patch gives a singular finish to the toilette; it is like the seal on a letter or the frame to a picture. You see the grey powdered curls and the bright eyes, and the low, luxurious bodice, and the ribbon necklet around the throat-and if the patch be absent, it is instantly missed, and the whole toilet seems incomplete. This crafty little piece of vanity was