“Fier comme un Archange!” was the commentary of the deboshed Lucifer, who, according to some old fathers, tempted Eve in very excellent French. However that may be, he added, “the value of one of this pretty wanton’s superfluous gowns or coats would have clothed and kept forty poor men through a whole winter: and the mere waste cloth from them would have saved two or three from perishing. Touche-fille,” he said, addressing the fiend who carried the finery, “throw those traps into the scale.” The fiend obeyed, by casting them in where the lady’s bad actions lay; and straightway down sank that scale, and upward flew the beam which bore the soul and its ounce of virtues. This was done with such a jerk that the soul itself fell into the outspread arms of Touche-fille, who made off with his prey, without waiting for further award. Lucifer looked inquiringly at St. Michael; but the latter observed, that though his opponent’s aide-de-camp had been somewhat too hasty, he would not dispute the case any further. “But what, may I ask, do you intend to do with her?” “She shall have a new dress daily, and fancy herself ugly in all.” “Umph!” said Michael, “you certainly are the most exquisite of torturers.” “And Michael, despite his modesty, _does_ know what most vexes a woman!” “Go to ⸺;” whither, the last person addressed had not time to say. He was interrupted by Lucifer, who remarked:— “I have business upon earth. My affairs at home are well cared for in my absence by a regency.” And so they parted; and the moral of the tale is, that luxury in dress tends to lead to the Devil. And though it be lightly said, it is also truly said. Let us look through the book of patterns, wherein we may trace the varieties of costume, its fashion and its follies, and see how what was irreproachable today becomes ridiculous tomorrow. ADONIS AT HOME AND ABROAD. PART I. “L’habit est une partie intégrante de l’homme; il agit sur nos sens, et détermine notre jugement.”—LA BRUYERE. Our ancestors, in early days, had what may be called early ways. They were in no respect superior to New Zealanders in a savage state. Civilization has however copied some of their customs, and old ladies who paint their cheeks and necks are not much further advanced than their ancestors, who coloured themselves all over, and _that_ not out of vanity. Strabo says that the people in the west of England shaved their chins, but cherished mustachios, wore black garments, and carried a stick. This description might serve for half the gentlemen who are to be seen in Regent Street and Rotten Row during the “season.” But I suppose one _may_ take the liberty to doubt that the Cradocks of today really resemble so closely as the description would seem to warrant, their progenitors the Caradocs of other times, who “looked like furies,” says Strabo, “but were in fact quiet and inoffensive people.”