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has half an eye for art will tell you this—'tis au admitted axiom. Either, then, the shape of the covering should conform to that of the head, or it should not, and we take our ground in support of the latter position. The natural form of the head is determined by the rotundity of the craninm, beautifully modified by the waving curls of the hair—we speak of the abstract well-formed head; ahd nothing that approaches to the same shape will ever do more than give a bad substitute for the outline of the head as nature framed it. Any covering conceals the hair; and if you remove from sight this intrinsically beautiful integument, it is a principle of bad taste to put in its place only a poor copy of the same contour. If you cover the head, cover it with something that forms lines not curving like the sknll, nor yet so angular as to create too striking an opposition of ideas in the mind of the beholder. A close-fitting untasseled sknll-cap docs not improve the form of the head, for it is not half so gracefnl as the hair; but a square hat or a pyramidal cap is truly detestable. This is the reason why the common nightcap is ugly; it fits the head too closely, and its upper end conveys the lndicrous idea of something made to be pulled at. On the other hand, the double nightcap, pulled out and allowed to hang down on one shoulder, Spanish fashion, is less ugly—though far removed from our own ideas of beauty—because it introduces a new system of curves, and acts as a kind of dependent drapery to compensate for the concealment of the hair. Here is also the reason why the common hat is so frightful; it gives us straight or nearly straight lines, going upwards like tangents from the oval of the face, and cut off above by another straight line (the section of the crown) at right angles: all such lines and angles arc foreign to the face and head. The common nightcap is too familiar, the common hat too stiff. Observe the lines of the face and head; the projection of the nose, the rounded angularity of the chin; the vertical section of the head affording curves with decided yet harmonious irreirnlarities; the horizontal section producing a nearly regular contour.

Well, it is upon principles of this kind that the covering of the head should be beautified. Now, we profess ourselves unable to make any better reconciliation of the useful with the beautiful for this purpose, than in the small, flexible, light, and broad-brimmed hat, which is still to be found in some Spanish and Italian pictures; a hat not quite so large as that worn in the reign of Charles I., yet with all its freedom and capability of assuming a variety of graceful forms; not so stiff as the beaux of the Spanish court, and the rakes of our own merry monarch's palace made it; not so formal as we know James I. and Lord Bacon used to wear; but something between all these three types. The prevalence of straight lines in it should be avoided without its appearing slovenly, and its dimensions should be such as to consult convenience without relapsing into a homely vulgarity. Such a kind of hat admits of any further ornament which the fancy of the wearer may induce him to add; a feather, a band, a buckle, or even a plain button for occasionally looping up the brim on one side or other, (not two sides, for it would return to the old cocked hat,)—any of these extraneous additions would harmonize, and would be in due character with its shape. Such a hat would certainly be useful; and that it would be ornamental we have only to decide by consulting our eyes, and by looking at our ancestors' portraits of the seventeenth century.

But therT, is another kind of covering for the head, which, for its peculiar purposes, seems to us more useful and more ornamental even than this hat; we allnde to the common round travelling cap, the officers' undress cap in the British army. Are you going a journey? have you any rough work to do? have you got a headach and want something light? would you put on something that will not spoil by being pulled about, sat on, slept on, and stood on? something handy, useful, comfortable, and withal good-looking?—What do you do? you get a foraging cap. Every man looks well in a foraging cap; it harmonizes with every body's face: it makes the old look young, and the young look smart: it is without pretence, plain in detail, and yet elegant in outline: it has no straight lines in it, and yet its curves are in contrast with those of the head; they run in opposite directions: and the shade of the cap, if it has one, emulates the decisiveness of the nose, and gives character to the profile of the head, just as the nose gives point and force to the face. Nothing so easily admits of suitable ornament: a plain band—a golden one—or even a coloured one—makes it suitable to the various ranks and occupations of men: while its material, admitting of infinite variety, according to the taste of the wearer, never injures the source of its beauty, its form. The cap fails in only ono thing; it is unfit for rainy weather; it will only do for dry days. Do not attempt to put a flap behind it, and tie it under your chin—yon at once convert it into an ugly nightcap; its curves then imitate those of the head, and the ridiculous takes the place of the becoming. For three hundred days, however, out of the three hundred and sixty-five, such a cap may be worn with the greatest comfort and advantage: while, for simplicity and elegance, it has no rival. We exclnde most vigorously all other kinds of caps; we admit nothing but the common round foraging cap, with a small shade over the eyes; we especially set our faces against the little quirked Highland cap, now revived, and becoming popular among the southrons. This cap has part of its curves—those behind the head approximating too closely to the curve of the sknll • in fact, at the hinder part it is a sknllcap; whereas, the other part of the eurves in front are too much in opposition to the outline of the face: they bend over and form an uupleasant contrast with the nose and chin: thpy are deficient in the shade or visor, and

there is not one man in a thousand whose face they suit. All fancy-caps with whalebone, falling tops, angular projections, &c., we utterly abominate; we pin our faith to the quiet, unsophisticated, gentlemanlike cap worn by our officers: it beats almost any other head-dress in the world.

The prevailing tendency of the age is to avoid distinctions of dress except in the value of the material, and then only between the two great divisions of society—the affluent and the poor. Hence all ornament seems to be a superfluity, except upon occasions of public display or military service; and men will not now listen to any one who advises them to put feathers and gold lace on their hats and caps: they would as soon think of returning to the embroidered coats of their grandfathers. The principle is a good one: in the palmy days of Rome, the differences of dress bore no proportion to the differences of station; distinction in dress was the failing of the middle ages, a consequence of some lurking seeds of northern barbarism, which arc only now ceasing to be propagated. We seem, liko the great men of the Eternal City eighteen hundred years ago, to be looking more at the inward worth and influence of a man, than at his outward state and dress ; and it is a good sign of the times; it is a reasonable inclination of the mind; but it confines the exercise of taste in dress. Men of the present day are determined to be plain about the head as well as about the body; all ornament of head-dress they have left to soldiers and to the fairer half of the creation :—serf hmc hactenus—we reserve our remarks on the coiffures of these two classes for another occasion. H. L. J.


(tcardsmex have at nil periods been a racketing, rollicking set of fellows. Whether ancients or moderns, infidels or Christians, praetorians or janissaries, the mousrpielaires and Scottish archers of the French Louises, or the lifeguards of " bonnie Dundee's" own regiment, thcy have always claimed, and usually enjoyed, • greater degree of license than is accorded to the more uupretending soldiery of the line. The first in the field, and the last out of it, they have Sometimes seemed to think that, by thrashing the king's enemies, they acquired a right to baton his subjects, that captured cities atoned for the wrongs of delnded damsels, and that each extra blow struck in the fight, entitled them to an extra bottle in the barrack-room. On duty, discipline—off dnty, dissipation—seems to have been the motto of these gentlemen ; and if it be the case, that they occasionally forgot the former part of their device, it, on the other hand, is no where upon record, that they were oblivions of its latter portion. Fighting hard and drinking hard, living hard and dying hard, the bravest men and most desperate debauchees of all countries, have worn the uniform of guardsmen.

Our old friend, M. Alexandre Dumas, who, if we may believe one of hU biographers, passes twelve hours •-day in driving a goosequill for the entertainment and particular edification of his countrymen, found himself, one fine morning, desperately at a loi-s for something to write about. He is, perhaps, not the first writer of fiction who has been in a like predicament; and even if he were, it would be neither wonderful nor uupardonable, seeing that his average rate of production is about three volumes per month. There is a limit to all things, even to the imagination of a French romance writer; andM. Dumas, without exception the most prolific of modern scribblers, was for once hard up for a subject.

L'hopital ri'est pas pour les chiens, says the French proverb. It occurred to M. Dumas, that the league

or two of books in the Bibliotheqtte Royale were not placed there for the mere purpose of astonishing provincials, or causing English tourists to stare and lift tip their hands in admiration; but that one of the objects of their preservation might well be, that they should afford suggestions to any distinguished litteratenr who happened to be, like himself, in want of an idea. Emerging, therefore, from his comfortable abode in the Chaussee d'Antin, he turned his steps in the direction of the royal library, and was soon up to his ears in dusty tomes and jaundiced parchments. After much research, he discovered a folio manuscript, numbered, as he tells us in his preface, 4772 or 4773, and purporting to be a memoir, by a certain Count tie la Fere, of events that occurred in France towards the latter part of the reign of Louis the Thirteenth. Upon perusal, he found this MS. so interesting, that he applied for, and obtained permission to publish it; and the memoir in question saw the light under the title of Lcs Trois Motmquelaires.

The piquant and interesting matter contained in this book, caused it to be much read, and numerous persons were curious to see the original manuscript. To their infinite surprise, however, they could obtain no account whatever of such a document; and what was still more provoking, the librarians seemed to look upon them as insane when they asked for it. There was mnch running up and down the library stairs, much mounting upon step-ladders, and tumbling of paper and parchment, much grumbling of puzzled librarians and disappointed applicants, until at last, the most obstinate became convinced that the aforesaid MS. had no existence save in the imagination of M. Dumas, who had, as it is vulgarly styled, " taken a rise" out of the public.

In the spring of the year I025, a young Gascon gentleman named D'Artagnan, left his home to seek fortune at Paris. He was mounted on an ill-looking cob, some fourteen years of age—that is to say, within four years as old as its rider; the sword which his father buckled ou him at parting, was more remarkable for its length than its elegance; his purse contained fifteen crowns, and his valise a couple of shirts. To compensate for this meagre equipment, ho rode like a Tartar, and fenced like a St George; and was moreover possessed of three qualifications invaluable to a man who has his way to make in the world—a clear head, a light heart, and a courage that nothing could daunt. One thing more he had; a letter of recommendation from his father to Monsienr de Treville, captain of the mousquctaires, or bodyguards, of his Majesty Louis the Thirteenth.

Nearly the last words of the worthy old Gascon, who was compelled by his poverty to send his son forth into the world thus slenderly provided, were an injunction to honour the King and Cardinal Richelien, then in the zenith of his power, and to fight as often as he could get an opportunity. With such counsels yet ringing in his ears, it is not surprising, that before reaching Paris youngD'Artagnan gets into a very pretty quarrel against overpowering odds, is somewhat maltreated, and, while senseless from the blows he has received, has his letter stolen from him by an emissary of the Cardinal, among whose political enemies M. de Treville stands in the foremost rank. The young adventurer, however, consoles himself for his loss, shakes his feathers, and arrives at Paris without further accident. Before entering the capital he disposes of his horse, of whose uncouth appearance he is heartily ashamed; and after improving his toilet as well as his scanty wardrobe will allow, he proceeds to the hotel of Monsienr de Treville, where he falls in with the three mousquctaires who give a title to the book, in which, however, D'Artagnan plays the most conspicuous and important part. He finds the hotel Treville thronged with applicants for an andience, petitioners, mousquetaires, and lackeys bearing letters from persons of the first importance. Ho sends in his name, and after some delay, is admitted. Here is M. Dumas' account of the interview.

"Monsienr do Treville was that

day in a particularly bad humour; nevertheless he returned D'Artagnan's profound bow with a polite inclination of the head, and smiled at the strong Gascon accent in which the young man uttered his compliments. The sound recalled to his mind his own youth and his native country, two things of which the recollection is apt to make most men smile. He then waved his hand to D'Artagnan, as if requesting him to have a moment's patience, and approaching the door leading to the anteroom, he called out in an imperious and angry tone —

"' Athos! Porthos! Aramis!'

"Two mousquctaires, who had already attracted D'Artagnan's attention, left the groups of which they formed a part, and entered the andience chamber, of which the door was immediately closed behind them.

"There was a remarkable contrast in the appearance of these two guardsmen. One was a man of gigantic stature, lond-voiced, and of stern and haughty countenance; the other, on the contrary, was of gentle and naive physiognomy, with smooth rosy cheeks, a soft expression in his black eye, a delicate mustache on his upper lip, white hands, and a voice and smile remarkable for their mildness. The bearing of these two gentlemen upon entering the presence of their captain, showed a happy mixture of submission and dignity, which excited the admiration of D'Artagnan, who was already disposed to look upon the mousquetaircs as demigods, and upon their chief as an Olympic Jupiter, armed with all his thunders.

"Monsienr de Treville took two or three turns up and down the apartment, silent, and with a contracted brow, passing each time before Porthos and Aramis, who remained mute and immoveable as if upon the parade ground. Snddenly he stopped, and measured them from head to foot with an angry glance.

"' Do you know what the King told me, gentlemen, and that no longer ago than yesternight? Do you know, I say, what his Majesty told me?'

"'No,' replied the two guardsmen after a moment's silence. 'No, sir, we do not know it.'

"' But I hope you will do us the honour to Inform us,' said Aramis in his most polite tone, and with hU most graceful bow.

"* He told me that henceforward he would recruit his mousquctaircs from among the guards of Monsienr le Cardinal.'

"' Among the guards of Monsienr le Cardinal! And why so?' demanded Porthos abruptly.

"' Because he finds that his own sour wine requires to be improved by the admixture of some more generous liquor.'

"The two guardsmen coloured up to the eyes. D'Artagnan felt uncertain whether he was standing on his head or his heels.

"' Yes,' continued Monsienr de Treville with increased vivacity, 'and his Majesty is right; for, by my honour, the mousquetaircs cut a sorry figure •t the court! Monsienr le Cardinal was relating yesterday at the King's card-table, in a tone of condolence that displeased me no little, how those infernal mousquetaircs, those sabrenrs as he ironically called them, had forgotten themselves over their bottle at a tavern in the Rue Ferou, and how a patrol of bis guards had found it necessary to arrest them. I thought be was going to laugh in my face as he said the words, looking at mo all the time with his tiger-cat eyes. Morblen! yon ought to know something about it. You were amongst them; the cardinal named yon. Mousquetaires, indeed, who allow themselves to be arrested! But it is my fault for not choosing my men better. What the devil possessed you, Aramis, to ask me for a guardsman's uniform, when a priest's surplice would have fitted you better? And you, Porthos, what is the use of your wearing that magnificent embroidered sword-belt, if the weapon it supports is of such small service to you 1 And Athos, I do not see Athos. Where is he?'

"' Sir,' replied Aramis gravely,' ho is ill—very HI.'

"' Ill, say you? And of what disease?'

"' It is feared that it is the smallpox, sir,' replied Porthos, who was desirous of putting in a word. 'It would be a great pity, for it wonld assuredly spoil his appearance.'

"'The small-pox I A fine story

indeed! The small-pox at his age! Xot so! But wounded, I suppose— killed perhaps. Sangdien! Messienrs les Mousquetaires, I insist upon your ceasing to frequent taverns and places of bad repute. I will have no more brawling and sword-playing in the public streets. I will not have my regiment made a laughing-stock to the Cardinal's guards, who are brave fellows, prndent and quiet—who do not get themselves into trouble, and if they did, would not allow themselves to be arrested. Not they! They would sooner die upon the Spot than recede an inch. It is only the King's mousquetaircs who run away or are taken prisoners.'

"Porthos and Aramis trembled with rage. They would willingly have strangled their chief, if they had not felt that it was the great affection he bore them that induced him to speak thus harshly. They bit their lips till the blood came, and clutched the hilts of their swords in silent fury. Several of the guardsmen in the anteroom, who had heard Monsienr de Treville's summons to Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, and susspected what was going on, had applied their ears to the tapestry, and lost not a word of their captain's reproaches, which they repeated to those around them, who in their turn repeated them to their comrades on the staircase and in the courtyard. In an instant, from the anteroom to the street, all was commotion.

"' Ha! his Majesty's mousquetaires allow themselves to be arrested by the Cardinal's guards!' continued Monsienr do Treville, who was as furious as his soldiers. 'Aha! sirs, six of his Eminence's guards arrest six of the King's! Morblen! I have made up my mind what to do. I will go at once to the Louvre, resign my post as captain of mousquetaircs, and solicit a lientenancy in the Cardinal's guards; and if I am refused, morblen! I will turn priest!'

"At these words the murmur outside the andience chamber became an explosion. On all sides oaths and blasphemies were resounding. D'Artagnan looked about for a place to hide himself. He felt a strong inclination to get under the table.

"' Well, captain,' said Porthos,

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