solution, is the renowned eau Athénienne,
which is supposed to cure all hair defects
whatsoever.

Snuff is perfumed by tonquin bean; the
odour heightened by ammonia. Smelling salts
are made of ammonia, ambergris, musk, civet;
and other ingenious sachets have in them
orris, vitivert, rhodium, santal-wood, patchouli
in powder, ottos of rose, neroli, santal;
musk-pods, ground, and civet, too; tonquin
beans, cloves, rose-leaves. All the perfumes,
in fact, which can be reduced to powder,
moistened with a few drops of otto. For
pastil, benzoin and olibanum; the last used
chiefly in the Greek church; believed also
to be good for ophthalmia, and a specific for
consumption. But far more ingredients are
used than these. Santal wood, gum benzoin
and tolu, otto of santal, cassia, and of cloves;
nitrate of potass, and mucilage of tragacantha
are the ingredients of the Indian or yellow
pastils. Cascarilla, myrrh, chanval, otto of
cloves and of nutmegs, vanilla, neroli; carraway,
rose, thyme, lavender ottos, are among
the recipes given for the rest. But it is to
be remembered that the burning material is
charcoal, and that after all a pastil is simply
scented charcoal.

What shall we say of the chapter on soaps?
Our space is too much narrowed to enable us
to extract all the details which our readers
would find interesting. We can but give a few
leading facts. Such as,—that the primary
soaps are divided into hard and soft, the hard
containing soda, the soft, potash, as the basis;
that curd soap—a nearly neutral soap of pure
soda and fine tallow—forms the basis of all
the perfumed soaps; and that oil soap,
Castille soap, marine soap, a cocoa-nut oil
soap, of soda, an excess of alkali and much
water; yellow soap— tallow, resin and lead;
palm soap; fig soft soap—a combination of
oils and potash—and Naples soft soap— fish
oil, Lucca oil, and potash—are, in their degree,
the real bodies or bases of all the highly-
scented soaps of Bond Street; curd soap
being the saponaceous majority of them all.
These various soaps are cut into small slices,
melted, scented, fashioned into shape of
fruits, sometimes—tablets generally, and sold
at a large profit; the public paying for name
and perfume, literally cent per cent, or cent
per scent, more properly. The rest of the
toilet requisites we must also leave
unrecorded. Cold creams, lip salves, pomade
divine, cosmetics, tooth-powders, hair-dyes,
bandolines, mouth-washers, toilet vinegars,
rouges, and depilatories—we must leave them
all to those of the curious fair, who choose to
consult Mr. Piesse, thereon. He gives copious
recipes for those same matters; but
when we have given the method of preparation,
and the ingredients used in handkerchief
perfumes, we have given the alphabet of
all the rest. It is merely the same thing
under different phases—the same materials
variously combined—the vehicle or form
alone being different.

There is in flowers as in music, and as in
geometry, a certain fixed law of unity and
harmony, wonderfully in accordance with what we
know of the laws of nature in wider spheres.

"There is," says Mr. Piesse, "an octave
of odours like an octave in music;
certain odours coincide like the keys of an
instrument. Such as almond, heliotrope,
vanilla, and orange-blossom blend together,
each producing different degrees of a
nearly similar impression. Again, we have
citron, lemon, orange, rue, and verbena, forming
a higher octave of smells, which blend in
a similar manner. The metaphor is
completed by what we are pleased to call semi-
odours, such as rose and rose-geranium for
the half-note; petit grain neroli a black key,
followed by fleur d'orange. Then we have
patchouli, santal wood, and vitivert, and
many others running into each other. From
the odours already known we may produce,
by uniting them in proper proportion, the
smell of almost any flower except jasmine."

Is jasmine, then, the mystical Merù— the
centre, the Delphi, the Omphalos of the floral
world? Is it the point of departure—the
one unapproachable and indivisible unit of
fragrance? Is jasmine the Isis of flowers,
with veiled face and covered feet, to be loved
of all yet discovered by none ? Beautiful
jasmine! If it be so, the rose ought to be
dethroned, and the Inimitable enthroned
queen in her stead. Revolutions and abdications
are exciting sports; suppose we create a
civil war among the gardens, and crown the
jasmine empress and queen of all?

The art of perfumery, though in its use so
essentially frivolous, is of some importance
nationally. British India and Europe
consume about one hundred and fifty thousand
gallons of handkerchief perfumes yearly;
and the English revenue from eau de Cologne
alone is about eight thousand a-year. Nine
thousand seven hundred and sixty-six pounds
flowed into Britannia's pocket in eighteen
hundred and fifty-two, simply from the
duty on imported essential oils, one
hundred and ninety- five thousand three
hundred and forty-six pounds weight of which
landed on our shores. And the total revenue
from imported perfumes is estimated at about
forty thousand pounds per annum, including
the spirits used for their home manufacture.
So that we need not sneer at the art as
wholly frivolous; it has its uses, and its
advantages as well. And, practically, all things
are better for a little adventitious perfumes.
Linen, paper, houses, persons—all are
improved by a little scent; and if coarse people
overdo the quantity, and distort what was
intended for refinement into vulgarity, the
fault is theirs, not their material.