Ere I had done speaking the face of things was changed, a horde of men, cased in armour, burst upon the plain. They drove away the oxen and the kinethey slew the sheperds, and they carried off their women. On all sides there were wrath and wailing, prayers and curses, tears and blood. The ground was strown with the bodies of the dead; and the forage being concluded, the victors, sate down to a feast upon the field, and drank deep draughts of wine, from goblets handed to them by the wives and daughters of the slain. Loud and boisterous was the jollity of the festival, and the song of triumph resounded from the bloodstained board.

"This is the pastoral state," said the genius; "and here we have the same picture as before, though in other colours."

But surely," said I," this is not always pastoral life, Are the descriptions of the sweet pleasures of that stage of existence-all the glowing poetry of the golden age mere fictions. Is there then no paradise after all ?"

"Those who had themselves dwelt in Paradise," answered the genius, "could reply. When earth was infant, ere yet the days of the fabled Saturn were even dreamt of, before the Titians had troubled the repose of the skies, the first occurrence in human history is the murder of the first shepherd, by the first tiller of the ground; and if thou couldst see the inward feelings and the private motives of those who are sung in pastoral lays, as plainly as thou canst see their outward actions, thou wouldst know that whatever dark or wicked passion agitates the human breast in one state of society, must and will agitate it in another. The age of gold differs not in this from the age of Iron. Again!"

1 looked again, and the straggling cottages had in general disappeared, and strong castles were spread over the plain, or frowned upon the beetling points of the mountains. In them and around were fierce men clothed in armour, brandishing with practised hand the formidable weapons of war; beneath the castles, cowering under them as if for protection, as the chicken cowers beneath the wing of its dam were miserable huts, in which the serfs led a trembling existence, hewers of wood and drawers of water for the armed warriors within. But the greater number of the inhabitants of the country had gathered themselves together, and built them a city by the river side, and fenced it around with a wall. They had extended their power outside but for a short space, and there were contests without the wall, between them and the dwellers in the neighbouring castles, and also with the men of other cities. The princes from without were mounted on gallant coursers, with protruded spears, shining in the sunbeams in all the bravery of plate and mail, and led with them a half armed tenantry to the combat. From the city poured forth hardy burghers, serried in strong linked infantry, and the pale artisan flinging aside the base instruments of mechanical toil, assumed the lofty port of the soldier. Sometimes victory favoured one party, sometimes another. The walls of the city were sometimes mounted by the besieger, amid fire and sword -sometimes the victorious citizens bursting into the strong hold of a lordly neighbour slew him and his household upon the hearthstone of his fathers.

But at last the men of the city prevailed, and the

small territory expanded into a great empire. Another wave of the wand set the gorgeous capital before my eyes-the mean buildings disappeared-the narrow street was widened, the wall of wattles was replaced by one of stone, carefully fenced and guarded by the cunning skill of military architects-the stream spanned by magnificient bridges, where once the ford was the only passage, or where the humble ferryman plied his laborious trade. In short, there arose before my eyes that very city on which I had gazed in the picture, when the genius appeared to me.

was

There it stood with its glorius buildings, its artificial gardens, its bubbling fountains, its marble terraces, its gorgeous temples--and it was filled with busy groups. Some in the grave robes of reverend senators gave judgment, or spake the words of wisdom in solemn councils-others, in dazzling armour, kept watch and ward, or moved in measured tread through mazy evolutions beneath the practised eye of veteran leaders. Here the solemn pomp of priests ascended the golden altars, and the incense steamed, and the victim bled-there tongue-donghty orators held forth to assembled multitudes, who shouted in applause or hooted in disapprobation, not knowing why. Here state the musing student with eye intent upon his musty volumes, or plied the rapid pen to produce follies as great as those which he had read. The squalid sons of toil laboured at the forge or the loom, or reared the lordly palace, or prepared the festival for the sons and daughters of luxary.

"There," said the genius, "there is the eity which thou didst desire to see-there is the city as it stood three thousand years ago."

"It appears happy and prosperous," I replied, "full of all the materials of wealth, strong in all the ap pliances of power. I see that vessels laden with all that splendour can fancy, or luxury can desire, are floating into her port. I see men vested in authority proceeding to govern distant empires in unquestionable rule. No enemy is at her gates, no other nation appears to dispute her power. But what is that?"

A thronging mass had uprisen, in which were seen faces that never seemed to have looked upon the sun, or to have been gladdened by a smile, and with uproar and violence met in the middle of the city. A man with flashing eye and fierce gesture rose up among them, and as he spoke a deep hollow murmur of approbation followed his words. At last he drew forth a sword, and the cry of the multitude was wafted through the air like the voice of a hurricane. Presently flames burst forth in the lordly houses, and the nobles, and the grave senators fell by plebeian hands. Ere long, from one of the palaces burst forth an impetuous band of armed men, at the head of whom was an old warrior, whose long grey locks waved in the wind, as he swung his helmet round his head, urging his followers to the onset. The hostile parties met, and the streets ran ancle deep with blood. The contest was dire, but the nobles conquered, aud their aged leader chased the beaten people through the streets, uttering imprecations and denying quarter. the sword was at last fatigued, and the dark-stoled judge, with darker visage, sent what it had spared to the dungeon or the scaffold. Loud were the shouts of triumph, deep the groans of despair; but at last all was peace, and one leader sate

upon the throne as prince, before whom both parties bowed and trembled. And he went forth to war and brought back fresh triumphs; and when he died they worshipped him as a god.

"This," said the genius, "is the last vision I shall display except one. This glorious city, where all was so prosperous, so wealthy, and so powerful, had within her the elements of discord and of ruin. When thou didst pronounce it safe, thou sawest only the outside passing fair, and brilliant, and majestic. Thine eye was caught by the grandeur of the palace, it did not look upon the misery of the garret. The gallant soldier, the lordly prince, the proud merchant, the gay reveller, the beaming beauty, these couldst thou see. Thou couldst not see that close by grandeur sate want; that the beggar shivered at the gate of the merchant; that the labourer starved, while those for whom he laboured were seated at the feast. Hence at last arose that contention which had just passed before them.

"And which," said I," is over, and the city under different rule seems more powerful than ever."

"So is it for its hour," replied the genius; "but it has many a phase to pass. The nobles conquered in the civic broil, which we have seen, and enjoyed their victory; but the contest was not over. Again it was tried; and the king, seized by the hands of the rabble, fell beneath the axe of the headsman. The nobles were cut down and trampled on, and upstart cruelty had its bitter day of retribution. War, war continued to rage, and at last a king arose again from among those who had slaughtered the former prince. Again there was a time of quiet, and peace prevailed.

once more.

Look

"All around was tranquil, and the city shone proud in its magnificence. The pomp of the emperor was dazzling to look upon, and he scarcely deigned to cast an eye upon the crowd. His nobles rich and luxurious trembled before him, and in turn exacted unmurmuring obedience from all besides. Luxury had fixed her throne among them, and the world was ransacked for the dainties of earth and sea. Pleasure was all they sought, and they sought it in the paths of sin. With scoffing indifference they ran from vice to vice, and all was depraved around. The burgher and the free peasant were gone, and in their places were none but crouching slaves. Secure of power from long continuance, their hands no longer grasped the sword or brandished the lance, but held instead the jewelled cup or effeminate lyre. The harsh words of war no longer passed their lips, which breathed the lisping accents of impure love. In a moment the trumpet blast burst upon their ears, and a new race of warriors appeared beneath their walls. Tumult reigned within, none knew how to command, none accustomed to the works of battle. The slaves looked on in sullen silence, or if they spoke it was in derision of their lords. Without, the unsparing chieftain, whose flaming eye spoke death and destruction, urged his men forward with promises of unbounded spoil, and ere long, the wall yielding to the blows, disclosed a breach. stantly they poured forward in thousands, and the lords of the city fled their slaves joined the conquerors, and betrayed their masters. For many days the victors roamed through the city, and plundered it of its wealth. They roled the goiden vessels of religion through the streets in bitter mockery of the gods of

:

In

the conquered. They made their princes servants, and gave their high-born matrons to the embraces of their slaves. Sated at last, they carried off the jewels and the gold, and the pictures, and the carved works, and all the glories of the city; they led away its king as a slave, and carried off the women as captives. The men they slew by the edge of the sword, and they burnt the city with fire. They tore it down, so that no stone stood upon another; and having done these things, they marched off with haughty footsteps, singing their own praises and the glorious deeds which they had done, while the women wailed around them, and thought of the city which was no more.

66

Thou

They go," said the genius, "to run the same round as those whom they have destroyed. Thou hast now, my son, seen what thou didst desire to see. The city has risen from infancy to maturity, and sunk from grandeur to destruction before thine eyes. hast seen the same passions in all states-the constant repetition of the same scenes. The savage huntsman, the civilized knight or shepherd, the soldier citizen, the high born prince, the trained soldier, the supple courtier, the ambitious demagogue, are all actuated by the same motives, and when cast into the same situations act the same way. The history of this world is but a history of violence-a million of volumes would not contain the records of outrage-a single one would exhaust the blessings which man has conferred on man. But thou, my son-thou for whom l-"

Most unfortunately whatever the genius was about to relate, and which must have been most particularly interesting to myself, must be lost for ever; for a laughing company burst into the room, and I found that while in fancy I was gazing from a mountain-top on the events of centuries, I had iu reality only dozed, in an arm-chair opposite the picture. The first stroke of seven o'clock had rung in my ears before I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again the last was striking. I had therefore seen the events of a thousand years in the space of a minute. Let those who doubt my story remember Mahomet's flight to heaven, and the upsetting of the pitcher of water, and disbelieve me if they dare.

THE THEATRES OF ITALY.

IN giving a sketch of the theatres of Italy, I commence with those of Naples, where, more than in any other city, theatrical amusements are cultivated and encouraged. Its places of public entertainment are numerous as, and much more frequented than, those of our own metropolis; though in comparaison of the size of the two cities, the former sinks into insignificance.

The far-famed San-Carlo is the grand opera, and is the most splendid house in Europe, it is much larger than the King's Theatre in the Haymarket, and decora tions are of a most superb and even gorgeous character. There are six tiers of lofty boxes, the pannels in front are of richly carved gilt wood, and the procenium is adorned with four magnificent columns of the Corinthian order. The King's box is exactly in the centre of the house very richly ornamented with crimson velvet hangings. The interior is of plate glass, and three handsome chandeliers depend from the ceiling, But it is only used on state occasions three private

boxes thrown into one, being appropriated to the members of the royal family. San Carlo, like most of the theatres in Italy, is insufficietly lighted; but on certain occasions there is a grande illuminazione, when it presents an appearance of the most dazzling splendour. On each side of every box is a branch containing five wax torches, the light from which shining on the profuse gilding with which every part of the house is adorned, renders its brilliance on first entering too glaring for the eye to support, these supernumerary lights amount in nomber to seven hundred and fifty, exclusive of the chandelier in the centre, and the customary illumination of the theatre.

The performances at San Carlo are generally of a superior character, though (notwithstanding the advantages enjoyed in the possession of native talent,) its company of performers is never equally good with that at our own Opera House, either in the vocal or instrumental department. England is sure to have the firs rate talent from Italy, that country rears the flowers but we are certain to enjoy the sweets. The English are so entirely guided by their appreciation of talent by the reputation it may have acquired, that none but those who have established their fame abroad, can, with a tolerable prospect of success, be bronght over to this country. For this reason the managers are compelled to introduce at an exhorbitant expense the very highest musical talent into England, and in consequence, the prices of admission to our Italian Theatre must be sufficiently high to warrant the offering salaries much larger than those that are given on the continent. The entrance to the pit at San Carlo is only six carlini, (about 28. 3d.,) and for six piastres (1. 58.,) you may obtain one of the best boxes in the house, all of which are of an equal size, and will conveniently hold eight persons. On extraordinary occasions, such, for example, as a royal visit, an illuminazione, or new opera, the prices are doubled or even trebled.

An Italian audience is naturally far superior in its musical taste to an English one, and listens to an opera with much greater attention. The fashionables do not (as is frequently the case in our own country,) delight inore iu the sounds of their own voices than in those of the performers. The foolish custom of applauding an actor before he has opened his mouth does not prevail in an Italian theatre, nor are the airs in an opera interrupted by the senseless clapping of a set of would-be-musical enthusiasts, who, by an occasional exclamation of "bravo," would insinuate their appre ciation of that which they do not understand. In the theatres of Italy is always observed the mutest attention which it were sacrilege to interrupt, but the applause at the termination of any thing occasioning more than ordinary satisfaction is often protracted to a somewhat preposterous extent. I remember witnessing at San Carlo the first perfofmance of a new opera by Pacini, founded on Walter Scott's tale of the "Betrothed." The enthusiasm it gave rtse to was, in the estimation of one who considered the comparative insignificance of the occasion, irrisistibly ludicrous. The principal performers were called for after every scene in which they appeared, and the presence of the composer was insisted on at the terminatiou of each of the three acts. I remember likewise at Verona, where Pasta was starring it, the audience not only calling for her after every scene, waving their handkerchiefs, and threaten

ing to do considerable damage to the theatre, but actually staying in the house half an hour after the curtain had dropped for the evening, vociferating for Pasta, who, to gratify them, again came forward almost undrest, and after this condescension on the syren's part, they remained still unwilling to disperse till informed by the manager that the object of their idolatry had retired to her home.

The

Fondo is the other royal theatre of Naples. It is neither a very large nor handsome building, but it has generally the same company, and is under the same management as San Carlo. So great is the admiration of music among the Neapolitans, that nearly all their places of public amusement are devoted solely to its cultivation, and there is but one theatre set apart for the drama. Forentini is the name of the house thus appropriated. Its size is about the same as that of Fondo, is generally occupied by a company at least possesed of respectable talent. The tragic acting of the Italians differs from that of the French and English in about an equal degree. It is without the drawling affectation of the former, and is unmarked by many of those touches of genius, which, though often at variance with the strict rules of mere correct delivery, constitute the chief graces of the art in our own country. manner of their tragedians approaches nearer to that of Young than of any other actor, though more rarely even than that gentleman, do they condescend to quit cold propriety of declamation, for the irregular brilliance of genius. They attempt to express different passions only by different tones. They do not consider how a sentiment would be felt, but how it ought to be spoken, and endeavour to find in art a substitute for nature. Their comic acting assimulates very nearly to the English. It is without the naivete of the French, nor does their humour so much depend on grotesque contortions of the person. A practical joke is, nevertheless very much relished on the Italian stage, and I have known a piece saved from condemnation by a glass of wine thrown, during the last scene into the face of the performer. The taste of the Ausonians in dramatic productions is on the whole more refined than that of either the French or English. Their represen tations generally consist of tragedy or comedy, melodrama and farce having not yet extended their dominion over the Italian stage. Trent Anni della Vita d'un Giuocatore (Thirty Years of a Gambler's Life) so successful in London and Paris, was unhesitatingly damned on its first production at Naples, and La Straniera di Durncleugh, (The witch of Durucleugh) an Italian version of Guy Mannering was impatiently heard on the first, and withdrawn after the second night of its representation.

There are two or three other small theatres for music, in addition to those already mentioned, and the rest are devoted to Pulcinello, who is a prodigious favorite with the Neapolitans. He is introduced into all manner of pieces, and is often made a principal character in sacred dramas written by the priests for the religious instruction of the people, and represented by itinerant showmen similar to our Punch and Judy proprietors. At all the smaller theatres there is a day as well as an evening performauce, and each is attended by a very numerous audience. There is one peculiarity of the Neapolitan theatres, which would be worthy the adop tion of the London Managers. The seats in the pit

are numbered and seperated one from the other, and there being a ticket for each place only, the theatre can never be inconveniently crowded. This plan prevents confusion, a seat may be vacated and resumed at pleasure, the ticket being an indisputable title to its possession. This arrangement prevents all obstruction at the doors, as numbered tickets for all parts of the house are constantly on sale at the Bureau of the administration of the theatre. Females frequent the pit, in nearly as great a proportion as men, in all the theatres of Italy.

With regard to the Feste di Ballo, which, it is usually supposed in England, are conducted with so much spirit on the Continent, the opinion is erroneous. I at tended one at San Carlo, and found it very much on a par with those at the Argyll Rooms. There was, indeed, much less of spirit, with about an equal deficiency of vulgarity. So dull did the evening drag on, on the occasion I allude to, that before twelve o'clock the lights were extinguished, and the company, of course, separated. I was much dissappointed with the result, after having anticipated such a treat from an Italian Festo di Ballo. To add to my mortification, I had, in expec tation that I should appear singular in my ordinary attire, dressed myself entirely en masque; but what was my astonishment, on dashing with much vivacity and sprightliness into the gay crowd, to find myself surrounded by only two sorts of coats, surtout and another. In fact I was the only mask. A general rush towards me immediately took place, and a host of jests were in an instant spoken and demanded of me, not one of which I was sufficiently composed to understand or reply to. After several ineffectual attempts to make my exit, I at length found refuge in a privrte box, the whole of which I had to pay for, where, shrinking from the gaze and laughter of the audience, I, by degrees, ceased to attract their notice, and regained my own composure, determined never more to make my appearance en masque at a Festo di Ballo.

Before concluding my mention of Naples, I must not omit noticing that on the same evening, at three different theatres, the principal piece at each was a translation from Sir Walter Scott's novels. I could not help thinking, with all his popularity, how gratifying such a fact would be for the Great Known to know.

The theatres of Rome are numerous, but are neither of so splendid a character nor so ably or so spiritedly conducted as those of Naples. The largest of the Roman theatres is the Teatro Alibert, formerly the grand opera, and the scene of the Feste di Ballo in celebration of the Carnival. It is of considerable size, but the decorations are paltry, which is indeed the characteristic of all the theatres of the city. Alibert has been suspended by Apollo as the grand opera, and during the time of my residence at Rome, the former was abandoned to horsemanship and buffoonery.

Apollo, or Argentino, as it is sometimes called, is not so large as the theatre last noticed, nor is the interior fitted up in a much more tasty manner. The operatic company is never very brilliant, and the ballet is occasionelly very ludicrously constituted. In a soi-disant serious ballet, which I witnessed, the hero gave eight or nine sucessive springs to a height of several feet from the stage, and in the expression of despair at some highly tragical circumstance, as if seeking for some tremendous effort in which to exhaust his rage, he ac

tually ran like a cat half way up the pillar of the proscenium amidst the deafning applause of the discriminating audience at this appropriate movement of the performer.

Il Teatro Balle is the second in importance of the Roman theatres. It is about the same sise as Apollo, but is a somewhat handsomer edifice. It is set apart for the performance of tragedy and comedy, interspersed with operas. If on the same evening be performed a a comedy of three acts and an opera of two, it is the custom to play an act of each alternately. The purpose of this is to give an agreable variety to the entertain. ments, a method less judicious than novel, since it creates a suspension of interest, and keeps distracting the attention from one subject to another, by which it is fixed confusedly on both representations, and gains no clear idea of either.

There are one or two minor theatres in Rome, but except during the Carnival, not even the larger houses are honored with any great degree of patronage. In Florence the inhabitants are great play-goers, and more than in any other Italian city, do they encourage the talents of the dramatist. They do not exclude his productions from their stage through the passionate idolatry of music. Though they have hearts to languish over the inspirations of a Mozart or a Rossini, they yet have minds that can feel elevated at the more intellectual and equally divine language of an Alfieri or a Goldoni.

Two large theatres are devoted to the national drama both having excellent performers, and equally enjoying the patronage of the puplic. The production of a tragedy or comedy at either is expected with anxiety, and (if it merit) is hailed with enthusiasm. One of the three houses is called Il Teatro degl' Intrepidi. The other bears the name of Alfierie, The appellation of Goldoni also is given to another small theatre in the city principally devoted to music. Pergola is the grand opera, the house is the most chaste and elegant in the interior I ever beheld. The panels of the boxes are smooth, and are of a delicate salmon colour without a tateless profusion of gilding, but sufficiently adorned to prevent the appearance of scantiness. The Grand Duke's box is ornamented with crimson velvet draperies, and all the six tiers have festoons of rich silk depending from the ceiling. The performers are generally of good ability.

The Feste di Ballo are kept up here with more spirit than elsewhere, Rome of course excepted. During the Carnaval the masks perambulate the great walk by the Arno after four o'clock in the afternoon till the opening of the theatres, whither they repair and generally act their parts with vivacity.

At Venice there are two operas, of which La Fuide is the principal, It is wider than any theatre I ever visited though in depth from the centre of the stage to that of the boxes, it is exceeded by many. The appearance of the house is considerably marred by the want of uniformity in the draperies of the boxes, which are decorated according to the taste of the owners. San Benedetto is the name of the other house. It is con siderably smaller than the last mentioned The Venetians are much addicted to the diversions of the theatre, perhaps in part, because from the peculiar

Probably this Roman dancer was of the family of Cataline.

situation of their city, they are deprived of many other

amusements.

The famous La Scala of Milan is the last Italian theatre I shall particularly allude to. It is of a most magnificent size, and splendid architecture. The fronts

of the pit boxes are of marble, and the proscenium is supported by four grand Corinthian Pillars of the same precious material. The operas and ballets are invariably produced on a scale of splendour unequalled in any other theatre, and the extent of the stage admits of an effect being imparted to them, which is wholely unattainable in other similar establishments. The pit consits of sofas, and in every department of the audience portion, luxury and comfort seem to be primary considerations.

Almost every city of Italy has its opera, but, except those I have mentioned, none other merit particular observation. The prices in all cities are proportionate to one another, but will not bear comparison with the sums demanded at English theatres. In all parts of Italy the best places in the pit are assigned to the military, at about one third of the price paid by the public. This is a prerogative of the officers, granted them by the government, which is always anxious to conciliate the army, especially in countries where the power of the monarch, instead of being established in the af fections of a free people, may sometimes require military influence for its support.

It will be seen from what has preceded, that though the places of amusements are so numerous, yet none of them are without that extent of patronage which is in vain sought by the managers in the far more populous cities of Paris and London.

ON IMPROPRIETY OF DRESS.

"Malformation is the product of civilazation, or rather of fashion; in communities in a state of nature, it is scarcely known. The wild, untutored savage, unfettered by the tyranny of custom, ranges in all the freedom of unsophisticated nature, and acquires that activity, vigour and muscular energy, which are the usual attendants on bodily exertion, the enjoyment of pure air, and exemptiou from undue restraint. In proportion as nations or communities emerge from a state of barbarism, a taste for finery, a love of embellishment, a fondness for admiration ensue; there is nothing directly culpable in this; there is no crime in dress being made neat, becoming, or elegant. The Almighty has clothed all the works of creation with incomparable beauty He has invested every thing with the inexplicable charm of variety and loveliness. When properly examined, there is nothing, however humble, calculated to excite unpleasant feeling; there is nothing offensively gaudy; there is nothing superfluous or absurd; from the inconsiderable leaf that quivsrs in the breeze, to the most stupendous planet rolling in the immensity of space, there is throughout, one continued display of perfection. Assuredly, then, there is nothing reprehensible in the use of elegant or even fanciful apparel: it is in its abuse that the error consists, as when it has a tendency to be prejudicial to the health of the wearer. The originators of fashion, however, are rarely influenced in their inventions, by the considerations of health, fitness or propriety; they

are more frequently governed by an overweening anx iety after what is novel and eccentric. No wonder, then, that the extremes of fashion are so often inimical to the enjoyment of comfort and convenience.

By such inconsiderate disregard to the plain indications of nature, we have an instance, and a most pernicious one, of the inconsistency of mankind. Strange! that human beings, endowed with reason, should so thoughtlessly follow a fickle, arbitrary, and self-created power, that leads them to displays of the most fanciful; I had almost said, ludicrous kind. It were well if the evil here complained of, were deserving censure merely on account of its extravagance and inconsistency: it assumes, however, a much more frightful and alarming aspect, and is too often the fruitful source of debility, suffering, and deformity. For, be it remembered, that to it, chiefly, are to be ascribed, as an influential cause, those morbid affections and irregu larities of the spinal column, which when accompanied with debility of constitution, produce nervous irritability, dyspepsia, and a numerous train of other maladies that embitter life.

The empire of fashion excercises over its subjects unbounded sway, and incites them into excesses, which, in their more thoughtful moments, they could not but condemn. It possesses a sort of magic influence, that, for the time, captivates the fancy of its votaries, deprives them, in some respects, of the proper exercise of their reasoning powers, and leads them to admire as beauties, the most palpable inconsistencies. Instead of adapting the various articles of clothing to the form or shape of the figure, which, when not injured by injudicious treatment, exhibits a striking model of symmetry and beauty, the body is thoughtlessly made to form itself to the whims and caprice of dress, proclaimed, by the sovereign goddess of fashion, as elegant and becoming. Notwithstanding, however, the prevalence of this overwhelming and all engrossing influence, persons of refined feeling and good taste will always regard that attire as really most graceful, attractive and becoming, which is adapted to the figure, the motions, and convenience of the body,

In hazarding the foregoing remarks, the author has no wish to make use of expressions that may be deemed unnecessarily harsh or severe. He is satisfied that few will deny the evils resulting from a too ready compliance with the present mode of dress; and his only desire is, to bring the subject before the notice of the profession and the public, in such a manner, that females may not remain ignorant of that, with which it is their duty to become acquainted.

STAYS.

THE use of the zone or girdle, the type of our modern stays is of very ancient origin, and it is probable that in all ages of civilized life, the sex had used some article of this kind, from an idea that it was convenient for the support and graceful carriage of the figure. On their first employment, stays were of simple construction, and were destitute of their present objectional properties, being resorted to, almost exclusively, for the purpose of suspending from them other articles of dress in an easy, flowing and graceful manner, and whilst restricted to such uses, and not drawn unnecessarily tight, would not be likely to be attended with any mischievous effect. It is more than probable, that