A century subsequent to this, patches still kissed the cheek of beauty; and as professors taught how to wield the fan, so French essays were “done into English,” and instruction therein given as to the secret of applying them in an artful manner, how to arrange them with the most killing effect, and how to so plant them about the eye that the expression desired should be at once achieved,—whether of proud disdain, amorous languor, or significant boldness. They were the hieroglyphics of vanity and of party spirit; and beaux and politicians read in the arrangement of patches not only the tender but the political principles of the wearer. Despotism too had something to do with patches. Thus Lady Castlemaine fixed the fashion of mourning, by “forcing all the ladies to go in black, with their hair plain, and without spots.” It is a curious trait of the manners of other times that a royal concubine should order the tiring of honest women. She could hardly have influenced that “comely woman,” the Duchess of Newcastle, who went about, in the second Charles’s time, with a velvet cap, her hair about her ears, “many black patches, because of pimples about her mouth,” naked-necked, and in a black _justaucorps_. The ladies marked or patched, the gentlemen red-heeled and similarly “nosed,” had no greater delight than in killing time by looking at the “puppets;” and the fashion of these same puppets is a thing of such antiquity and such duration, that I may fairly add a chapter thereon to those through which I have already been accompanied by the courteous and indulgent reader. PUPPETS FOR GROWN GENTLEMEN. “They do lie in a basket, Sir; they are o’ the small players,—and as good as any, none dispraised, for dumb shows.”—BEN JONSON: _Bartholomew Fair_. Madame de Puysieux was a witty and vivacious lady. Among her recorded sayings is one that exceedingly well suits me for the nonce. “I would rather,” she said, “be occasionally found looking at puppets than listening to philosophers.” There was doubtless some reason in this; but the fact is also indubitable, that puppets and philosophy are not so far apart. The latter has often condescended to illustrate the former. The learned and serious Jesuit, Mariantonio Lupi, devoted his brief leisure to writing upon them. The great mathematicians, Commendino d’Urbino and Torniano di Cremona, stooped to play with and perfect them. Le Sage and Piron wrote plays for them. Ben Jonson brought them on the stage. Addison has immortalized them in stately verse; and Haydn seriously addressed himself to composing exquisite music, wherewith to grace their motion. These are but modern illustrations. We shall however presently discover, that the great and gifted men of a very remote antiquity were wont also to turn from the consideration of mighty problems, and carve puppets that should excite ecstasy in the wide world of “the little people.”