In the time of Madame Celnart, fine ladies used to powder their hair with the dust of Florentine iris, which gave their love-breathing tresses the violet odor of spring. A pleasant idea; but their iris, our orris-root, must have been a trifle fresher than comes to this country. It makes us sure that the beauties of Titian’s and Guido’s times were real women, to know that they steeped their tresses in bleaching liquids and dyes, and spread their locks in the sun for hours to gain the coveted golden tinge; and the hair of the Bella Donna herself might have caught part of its enchantment from the sprinkling of violet powder that lent its waves a soul. Those immortal beauties would have canonized Lubin had he been alive with his pomades and perfumes in their time. Celnart was a courageous advocate of cosmetics, or else she was wise enough to put the worst first, for one of her earliest recipes is this depilatory, which is not at all quoted by way of recommendation. It is the Oriental Rusma, a depilatory used in harems: Two ounces of quicklime, half an ounce of orpiment and red arsenic; boil in one pint of alkaline lye, and try with a feather to see when it is strong enough. Touch the parts to be rid of hair, and wash with cold water. When we say that orpiment and realgar are deadly poisons, and add Madame Celnart’s remark that the mixture is of “_une grande causticité_,” often attacking the tissue of the skin, our readers will quite agree with her that it is only to be used with “_la plus grande circonspection_,” or, still better, not at all. The _Crème Parisienne depilatoire_ is harmless, and is given for what it is worth: One eighth of an ounce of rye starch, and the same of sulphate of baryta (or heavy-spar), the juice of purslane, acacia, and milk-thistle, mixed with oil. The high-sounding Paste of Venus, devised by a Parisian cosmetic artist, who shared the mythologic fancy which prevailed years ago, was spread over the skin to soften and perfume it. Esther herself might have used it, for its conjugation of spices would delight an Oriental. It was made of fat, butter, honey, and aromatics--the more the better; but as none of our belles wish to try the anointing bodily, I spare them the list, and give instead the _Esprit de pyrêtre_. The pyrethrum, or Spanish pellitory, is an herb highly valued by cosmetic artists, and appears in several recipes of the French: Powdered cinnamon, one drachm; coriander, nineteen scruples; vanilla, the same; clove, eighteen grains; cochineal, mace, and saffron, the same; simple spirit of pyrethrum, one litre (about seven eighths of a quart). Let these ingredients digest for fifteen days, and add orange-flower water, half an ounce; oil of anise, eighteen drops; citron, ditto; oils of lavender and thyme, each nine drops; ambergris, three grains. Mix the ambergris with the pyrêtre, and put the two liquids together. Filter after two days. Use as a toilet water.