with blond, gauze ribbon nœuds, brides, and fancy flowers. SECOND HAT---WITH BACK VIEW. A pale blue-coloured dress hat, small and open, tastefully ornamented with a nœud of ribbons, and blue shaded feathers. COIFFURE-WITH BACK VIEW. This head-dress is composed of three principal coques on the summit of the head; the middle one slightly raised above the other two. Two smaller coques reversed, much lower than those above mentioned. The side-curls are far apart, and frizzed. The Courts of Lobe. (RESUMED FROM page eight.) "Un fanatisme aimable a leur ame enivrée Disoit: la femme est Dieu, puisque elle est adorée." RULES OF LOVE. 1. The only legitimate excuse for dispensing with jove, is the thraldom of hymen. 2. He cannot love who knows not how to dissemble. 3. True love cannot exist for more than one object. 4.-Love must either increase or diminish. 5. The favour which a lover snatches from his mistress against her consent, must be productive of distaste 6. No one really loves till at the age of discretion. 7. When a warm and mutual attachment is entertained, the survivor to be prescribed a widowage of two years. 8.-No one should be deprived of the object of his affections, without a very sufficient cause. 9. He alone who feels the want of it, can truly love. 10. Love banishes avarice. 11.-A fair one should never love him, with whom she would blush to be united. 12. The true lover only desires the good wishes of her he loves. 13-Love once divulged, seldom lasts long. 14.-An easy conquest soon renders love contemptible, 'tis only when attended by difficulties love becomes dear. 15. A true lover can never without emotion behold the object of his affections. 16.-Mutual palpitations agitate the hearts of lovers on a sudden recognition. 17.—If a new attachment is formed, the former must undoubtedly give way. 18. Integrity alone, is worthy of love. 19. When once there is a diminution of love, it languishes and very rarely recovers its former strength. 20.-A lover is always fearful of offending. 21.-A tender jealous solicitude, only serves to augment the passion of love. 22. When suspicion once gains ascendency, the hearts of lovers become tormented by jealousy and discord. 23. When love torments and agitates the mind, sleep becomes a stranger and sustenance is neglected. 24-Thoughts of the object of his affection, will involuntarily intrude in every action of a lover. 25. The true lover delights in that alone which he thinks will please his mistress. 26.-Love can refuse love nothing. 27.-Love can only be satisfied by the consolations of love. 28.-A slight mistrust often engenders fatal suspicions. 29.-A sensualist ought never to love. 30. Whoever truly loves, has continually before his eyes the image of the beloved object. The History of the Dead. THESE are the generations of the dead, A long, dark, drear, and melancholy race, Who with past times and ages long have fled, Nor left on earth one solitary trace! Hark! thro' the peopled realms a voice proclaims, He comes! the world is quiv'ring at his name, He comes with millions prostrate at his feet, All yield to him: the mighty sons of Fame, With unknown myriads, in his presence meet. Lo! where the pomp of man is rushing by, Talk not of pomp, ye heritors of earth, Ye gaudy mimics, fluttering for a day, To swell his grandeur ages had their birth, And unborn millions shall attest his sway. Where are the mighty warriors of yore, Where are the myriads that have seen the sun, 40 THE MAGAZINE OF THE BEAU MONDE; Maria, with her bosom friend, His steps were watch'd, his way pursued, The bridal morn he chose to vent And felt the fresh breeze fan his face, A rash and sudden blow was dash'd They grasp'd-they strove-they strain'd for breath, And twice they backward fell, and then The aim of each was now to throw, His rival on the rocks below. To compromise they bade adieu, And nothing short of death would do, They spoke no word of rage or hate, His rival drew a deadly blade, The victor's eye no longer flash'd, And then he silently withdrew.- For three sad years-and when at last, To mingle in the world again, At last she died, and time roll'd on, Had long been named-"the Lover's Leap." Was fading from the minds of men. In deepest agony reveal'd, The fearful tale so long conceal'd, Dreams. Aye, I know what 'tis to dream;-to whirl and toss So charactered in all that marks to man, I tell thee, father, such a dream might well Confound the forms, and substances of things ;- And shake the heart of daring incredulity. A Tale of the Plague. IT has long been my intention to write some passages of my past life. I have thought and reflected much on the subject, but the dread of those persons who now know me, hearing how guilty a wretch I have been, has alone prevented me. These worldly fears have, I sincerely pray, entirely vanished; and I hope and trust that the many years I have passed in repentance have, in some measure, mitigated the anger of Him before whom I feel I shall soon be summoned to appear. I am now become old and decrepid, so that I can, with difficulty, guide the pen I hold; but, should the little strength I possess not fail me, I shall be enabled to give a full account of those events which have caused me the bitterest and most heart-felt sorrow. The manner in which my youth was spent, might, perhaps, account for the feelings of selfishness and pride which were doomed to be the destruction of all the happiness that I seemed in such a full measure to possess. Every one knows from what an ancient and noble family I am descended; and that its honours and wealth were concentrated in me. They know, too, that I was an only child, and with what tenderness my parents treated me. Alas! had they been more severe, I had, perhaps, been more happy. I grew up a proud, imperious boy, whose slightest wishes were, to my dependents, as the most rigorous commands; and my fond father loved to see me thus enjoy the plenitude of power. At an early age I became my own master, and the owner of an extensive domain in the most fertile part of Italy. The death of my parents occasioned me the most poignant sorrow, but the loss 1 experienced did not change my heart. No! no! that cold-that selfish heart required a more rigorous punishment. I mourned for a season, and then I again smiled, and wandered forth to the world, which I vainly fancied was created solely for my enjoyment. Oh! it has been most bitter to reflect how I passed the few subsequent years; how vast the sums I spent on my own gratification; how few my wealth or power was serviceable to;-few, do I say? there was no one; there was not a being on the earth who did not loath my presence. The curse of a widow's heart once fell on me, because I lured her daughter from the lonely cot she was born in, and little I heeded it; but, in after years, when keen remorse haunted me, the remembrance of the haggard form that one night entered my chamber convinced me that the mother's prayer was not unregarded. I write my thoughts as they enter my mind, and my story may be unconnected; but the plea of old age must suffice. For nearly four years I continued in this course of profligacy, and then the world said that I had reformed; but mine was an outward reformation only. I was not seen in any public scene of revelry; I attended mass daily; I dared to whisper prayers that my heart felt not; and I gave alms freely in the sight of men, who vaunted my charity and devotion. The cause of this change I could not entirely conceal: I was in love, and I knew that the object of my affection would never hearken to my vows whilst I lived in a state of open immorality; and that, alone, was the reason of my altered conduct * Agatha * was, undoubtedly, the loveliest girl in our country, and I felt proud that she had deigned to accept me, as I had many fears as to the probability of her even listening to me, when she must have heard much of my profane life, and the impious acts I daily committed. But she believed that my heart was purified, and she loved me with a fondness and intensity very rarely, if ever, united. I often think how strange and inconsistent was my conduct then: that my regard for her was sincere no one doubted; but still so deebly was selfishness engrafted in my breast, that I was not (as subsequent disclosures will show) proof against affliction. I could not shield her from impending misfortune, though I had sworn to cherish her, even should more than the usual trials of mortality assail her. The palace of Agatha's father, the Count, was not more than half a day's journey from Florence. It stood a short distance from the Arno, and was surrounded by a small village, inhabited by the vassals of the Count. For grandeur and magnificence the palace. was unrivalled: it boasted of more architectural beauty than any in the vicinity, and exhibited the purest style of Italian building. It was situated on an eminence, and commanded a wide prospect over the luxuriant vineyards and woods which shaded the sides of the adjacent vallies. Broad marble terraces were formed in front of the castle, communicating by stone steps, which descended to the brink of the water; and small pavilions, at regular distances, were rendered deliciously cool by sparkling fountains, which played incessantly through the summer months. Perhaps I ought to have mentioned that Agatha was an only child; but let me justify myself-her riches had no weight with me. Had I been a poorer man, the wealth she possessed might have predominated over L We had wandered forth on the terrace one calm evening to enjoy the breeze which came across the ocean; the few preceding hours had been unusually sultry; and now the air, though soft, was cool and refreshing. But, in a short time, the gusts of wind became fainter, and soon entirely ceased. The sun had sunk amid clouds of a portentous aspect, which hung like a heavy veil in the west, and hid each tinge of light and colour from us. The dancing ripples on the river were suddenly calmed. The fishermen returned to land with as much speed as their united efforts would allow, and drew their boats high upon the shore in expectation of the tempest, which seemed lingering on the verge of the water. There was something so awful in the stillness which surrounded us that we did not seek the palace, but remained in one of the pavilions watching the scene before us. It soon became so dark that we could distinguish nothing save the marble statues which stood near the building. Agatha's lute, which was lying on a couch, by some unaccountable accident, now fell from its resting place; and, as it dropped upon the floor, a mournful sound swept through the apartment. Agatha started as it died away, and pressing closer to me, said, 'Lorenzo, some horrible fatality is impending over us. Smile at my weakness if thou wilt: but I am convineed that an overwhelming calamity is approaching.' Her voice faltered for a moment, and again she proceeded: When I have heard you whisper so oft the endearing words of affection, and speak of our mutual happiness, I knew it would not last-I knew it would not last.' Sobs choked her utterance, and she burst into tears. It was in vain that I urged her to conquer her weakness; she was insensible to every thing. I threw back her dark hair, and bore her still nearer the open window; she gradually became more composed, and presently called my attention to a faint light which appeared in the distance. It was not larger than a star, but it presently increased, when we discovered a ship rapidly approaching the shore: as it came nearer that a few tattered remnants of sails alone hung on the masts; and, though no breeze wafted her onwards, she came forward as if before a steady gale. A meteor flame played in the heavens, and showed a few mi serable wretches, apparently in the last stage of some horrible disease, standing on the deck. The vessel was now no further than a few yards from the shore: I would have given worlds had I been able to quit the spot, but I was unable to stir. My eyes were fixed upon the sea; I saw one man leap on the lower terrace, and then a loud ery came from the ship, when it sunk, and was seen no more. Agatha threw her arms around me, as she pointed to the solitary figure, which slowly ascended the flights. of steps, and came towards us. I heard her breath drawn with more rapidity, till she almost gasped for life; and I felt how convulsively she grasped my arm; and yet I wished to be away. I had no thought but for myself. I did not care for the defenceless being, who clung to me for protection; and as the man was almost on the threshold of the same building, I disengaged myself, and fled from the spot. My sorrow for that act has been indeed great. The recollection of it even now agitates me fearfully. I have tried by every method to ease my mind from the burthen of it, but daily, hourly, nay, momentarily the sense of my cruelty in deserting Agatha has recurred to me, and rendered my life wearisome. As the wind sweeps by my narrow casement, I fancy I hear her voice, as it last reached me, supplicating me not to leave her, and then all my former composure vanishes. I know not in what direction I fled, when I quitted the pavilion. I am told that a peasant found me in the recess of an extensive wood many miles off, in an insensible state. I was nursed by him with more care than I deserved: and in a few days I was again restored to health: The purse of gold I unknowingly bore with me, amply renumerated his family, and they blessed me for my generosity. How often have I turned away when I heard their thanks, for I knew that I rather merited the curses of all who beheld me. The cottage of my preserver was situated in a deep glen, and surrounded by chesnut trees, the largest I had ever witnessed. A wide stream fell from the hill behind the hut, and wound through the vale. I have sat for hours beside the river watching the progress of some dead branch that floated on the surface. I have stood on the edge of the mountain, and hurled stones into the valley beneath and tried to believe that all these avocations were interesting. I toiled daily in the fields as a common labourer; but I could not banish thought. I was doomed never to forget, and I again became listless and inactive. As I laid one night, unable to sleep, on my bed, it |