times like a tower, and sometimes like a steeple. In Juvenal's time the building grew by several or. ders and stories, as he has very humourously described it :

* Tot premii ordinibus, tot adhuc compugibus altum
Ædificat caput : Andromachen d fronte videbis ;
Post minor est : aliam credas.'

JUV. Sat. vi. 501.
With curls on curls they build her head before,
And mount it with a formidable tow'r :
A giantess she seems; but look behind,
And then she dwindles to the pigmy kind.'

DRYDEN.

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But I do not remember in any part of my reading, that the head-dress aspired to so great an extravagance

as in the fourteenth century; when it was, built up in a couple of cones or spires, which stood so excessively high on each side of the head, that a woman, who was but a pigmy without her head. dress, appeared like a colossus upon putting it on. Monsieur Paradin * says, “That these old fashion

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« ed fontanges rose an ell above the head: that they were pointed like steeples, and had long loose pieces of crape fastened to the tops of them, which were curiously fringed, and hung down their backs like streamers.

The women might possibly have carried this Gothic building much higher, had not a famous monk, Thomas Conecte + by name, attacked it with great zeal and resolution. This holy man travelled from place to place to preach down this monstrous commode; and succeeded so well in it, that as the magicians sacrificed their books to the flaines upon tbe preaching of an apostle, many of the women threw down their head-dresses in the middle of his sermon, and made a bonfire of them within sight of

* A French historical writer of the sixteenth conury.

+ A celebrated Carmelite, native of Bretagne, who travelled through several parts of Europe, preaching against the fashionable vices of the

At length, reproving the enorm ties of the Romish clergy, be was burnt for heresy at Rome in 1484.

VOL, II.

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the pulpit. He was so renowned as well for the sanctity of his life as his manner of preaching, that he had often a congregation of twenty thousand people; the men placing themselves on the one side of his pulpit, and the women on the other, that appeared (to use the similitude of an ingenious writer) like a forest of cedars with their heads reaching to the clouds. He so warmed and animated the people against this monstrous ornament, that it lay under a kind of persecution; and whenever it appeared in public, was pelted down by the rabble, who flung stones at the persons that wore it.

. But notwithstanding this prodigy vanished while the preacher was among them, it began to appear again some months after his departure, or to tell it in Monsieur Paradin's own words,

- the women that, like snails in a fright, had drawn in their horns, shot' them out again as soon as the danger was over.' This extravagance of the women's headdresses in that age is taken notice of by Monsieur d'Argentre* in his history of Bretagne, and by other historians, as well as the person I have here quoted.

It is usually observed, that a good reign is the only proper time for making of laws against the exorbitance of power; in the same manner an excessive head-dress may be attacked the most effectually when the fashion is against it. I do therefore recommend this paper to my female readers by 'way of prevention.

I would desire the fair sex to consider how impossible it is for them to add any thing that can be ornamental to what is already the master-piece of nature,

The head has the most beautiful appear

as well as the highest station, in a human figure. Nature has laid out all her art in beautify: ing the face; she has touched it with vermilion, planted in it a double row of ivory, made it the seat of smiles and blushes, lighted it up and eplivened it with the brightness of the eyes, hung it on *** An eminent French lawyer of the sixteenth century:

each side with curious organs of sense, given it airs and graces that cannot be described, and surrounded it with such a flowing shade of hair as sets all its beauties in the most agreeable light. In short, she seems to have designed the head as the cupola to the most glorious of her works; and when we load it with such a pile of supernumerary ornaments, we destroy the symmetry of the human figure, and foolishly contrive to call off the eye from great and real beauties, to childish gewgaws, ribands, and bonelace.

L.

ADDISON.

No 99. SATURDAY, JUNE 23, 1711.

-Turpi secernis honestum.

HOR. Sat. 6. 1. 1. v. 63. You know to fix the bounds of right and wrong. Tue

He club, of which I have often declared myself a member, were last night engaged in a discourse upon that which passes for the chief point of honour among men and women; and started a great many hints upou the subject, which I thought were entirely new I shall therefore methodize the several reflections that arose upon this occasion, and present my reader with them for the speculation of this day ;-after having premised, that if there is any thing in this paper which seems to differ with any passage of last Thursday's*, the reader will consider this as the sentiments of the club, and the other as my own private thoughts, or rather those of Pharamond.

The great point of honour in men is courage, and in women chastity. If a man loses his honour in one rencounter, it is not impossible for him to regain it in another; a slip in a woman's honour is irrecoverable. I can give no reason for fixing the

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point of honour to these two qualities, unless it be that each sex sets the greatest value on the qualification which renders them the most amiable in the eyes of the contrary sex. Had men chosen for themselves, without regard to the opinions of the fair sex, I should believe the choice would have fallen on wisdom or virtue; or had women determined their own point of honour, it is probable that wit or good-nature would have carried it against chastity:

Nothing recommends a man more to the female sex than courage; whether it be that they are pleased to see one who is a terror to others fall like a slave at their feet, or that this quality supplies their own principal defect, in guarding them from insults, and avenging their quarrels; or that courage is a natural indication of a strong and sprightly constitution. On the other side, nothing makes a woman more esteemed by the opposite sex than chastity; whether it be that we always prize those most who are hardest to come at, or that nothing besides chastity, with its collateral attendants, truth, fidelity, and constancy, gives the man a property in the person he loves, and consequently endears her to him above all things.

I am very much pleased with a passage in the inscription on a monument erected in Westminsterabbey to the late duke aud duchess of Newcastle. • Her name was Margaret Lucas, youngest sister to the ford Lucas of Colchester ; a noble family, for all the brothers were valiant, and all the sisters virtuous.'

* In books of chivalry, where the point of honour is strained to madness, the whole story runs on chastity and courage. The damsel is mounted on a white palfrey, as an emblem of her innocence; and, to avoid scandal, must have a dwarf for ber page. She is not to think of a man, until some misfortune has brought a knight-errant to her relief. The knight falls in love, and, did not gratitude restrain her from murdering her deliverer, would die at her feet by her disdain. However, he must waste many years in the desert, before her virgin-heart can think of a surrender. The knight goes off, attacks every thing he meets that is bigger and stronger than him. self, seeks all opportunities of being knocked on the head, and after seven years rambling returns to his mistress, whose chastity has been attacked in the mean tiine by giants and tyrants, and undergone as many trials as her lover's valour.

In Spain, where there are still great remains of this romantic humour, it is a transporting favour for a lady to cast an accidental glance on her lover from a window, though it be two or three stories high; as it is usual for the lover to assert his passion for his mistress, in single combat with a mad bull.

The great violation of the point of honour from man to man, is giving the lie. One may tell another he whores, drinks, blasphemes, and it may pass un

, resented, but to say he lies, though but in jest, is an affront that nothing but blood can expiate. The reason perhaps may be, because no other vice iinplies a want of courage so much as the making of a sie; and therefore telling a man he lies, is touching him in the most sensible part of honour, and indirectly calling him a coward). I cannot omit under this head what Herodotus tells us of the ancient Persians, that from the age of five years to twenty they instruct their sons only in three things, to manage the horse, to make use of the bow, and to speak truth.

The placing the point of honour in this false kind of courage, has given occasion to the very refuse of mankind, who have neither virtue nor common sense,

for men of honour. An English peer, who has not been long dead*, used to tell a pleasant story of a French gentleman that visited him early one morning at Paris, and, after great professions of respect, let him know that he had it in his power to oblige him ; which, in short, amounted to this, that he believed he could tell his lordship the person's

to set up

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