fluences; that they, in turn, cease to communicate impressions, or, in other words, to stimulate the voluntary muscles; and that then there is sleep which lasts until there is re-solution of structure, whereupon there is wakefulness from renewed motion in brain matter and renewed stimulation of voluntary muscle, through nerve.

The change of structure of the brain which I assume to be the proximate cause of sleep is possibly the same change as occurs in a more extreme degree when the brain and its subordinate parts actually die. The effects of a concussion of the brain from a blow, the effects of a simple puncture of nervous matter in centres es

sential to life—as the point in the medulla oblongata which Fluorens has designated the vital point-have never been explained, and admit, I imagine, of no explanation except the change of structure I have now ventured to suggest.

Here, for the moment, my task must end. My object has been to make the scientific reader conversant with what has been said by philosophers upon the subject of sleep and its proximate cause, and to indicate briefly a new line of scientific inquiry. I shall hope on some future occa sion to be able to announce further and more fruitful labor.

LOVE gifts should be of little intrinsic value; they should owe their preciousness to the hand that gives. The token of love should not, by its beauty or costliness, distract the attention for one moment from the meaning of the gift-heart speak ing to heart, in language eloquent though dumb. What are the objects that have been gazed upon, and kissed and wept over as priceless treasures? A "paltry ring with a posy," a glove, a true-love knot in hair or ribbon, or, as likely as not, a few faded flowers; but is there one who has loved who cannot recall to mind the throb of ecstasy, the glow of paradisiacal bliss, with which the first love-gift was received?-the silent messenger, bringing the full assurance of love's return? The youth who has just obtained a lock of hair, or a simple rose-bud maybe, from his mistress's hand, given after much pleading, would he part with it for a rose of rubies and gold? Would yonder girl, as she sits in her chamber alone, turning on her fin-. ger the slight ring that binds her to him who has won her maiden troth, change it for a circlet of the costliest diamonds?

gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind." Under these circumstances the jewels become worthless, the gold is only so much dross; one of the simple violets that "withered" when her "father died,” was more precious when Hamlet loved her. So it is-so it has ever been. It is the sweet madness of youth that leaves some touch of tender memory, keeping green one nook in the hearts of careworn, avaricious old age. Even Shylock would not have parted with the turquoise Leah gave him, when he was a bachelor, for a wilderness of monkeys.

From time immemorial the most usual love-gifts have been rings, bracelets of hair, flowers, birds, scented gloves, embroidered handkerchiefs, and such like articles. Autolycus has, in his "pedler's pack,"

"Golden quoifs and stomachers
For my lads to give their dears."

In a MS. in the Harleian library, quoted by Strutt, in his "Manners and Customs of the English," the understanding is mentioned, that in the case of a parting between lovers the love gifts should be "had again; unless," it adds, "the lover should have had a kiss when his gift was presented, in which case he can only claim half the value of his gift; the lady, on the contrary, kiss or no kiss, may claim her gift back again. However, this extends only to gloves, rings, bracelets, and such like small wares."

In ancient Greece, pretty birds were

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generally love gifts; caged birds were sold in the market at Athens for that purpose. Amongst the Romans rings were exchanged; and this custom seems to have prevailed in all ages, and every country. Chaucer describes Cresseide as giving Troilus a ring with a "posy," and receiving one from him in exchange; and Shakespeare frequently alludes to such tokens. The rings that Portia and Nerissa present to their betrothed husbands play a conspicuous part in the last act of "The Merchant of Venice ;" and in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona," Julia says:

"This ring I gave him when he parted from me, : To bind him to remember my good will."

Swinburn, in his "Treatise of Sponsals," gives the following reason for the ring being the chosen emblem of true love: "The form of the ring being circular, that is, being round and round without end, importeth thus much, that their mutual love and hearty affection should roundly flow from the one to the other as in a circle, and that continuously and forever." In the most remote ages the ring or circle was used as an emblem of eternity; in Egypt and Greece, a usual form of emblematic circle was the serpent with its tail in its mouth, and this form has been tail in its mouth, and this form has been frequently adopted in rings and bracelets.

It was the fashion, from Shakespeare's time up to the close of the 17th century, to engrave a motto or posy within the hoop of the ring; the poetry seldom soaring higher than such simple doggerel rhymes as:

or,

"God above Encrease our love."

"In thee my choice I do rejoice."

In 1624 a little book was published bearing the title "Love's Garlande; or Posies for Rings, Handkerchiefs, Gloves, and such Pretty Tokens that Lovers send their Loves." It does not say much for the inspiration of love, when lovers required to refer to a book before penning "a sonnet to their mistress's eyebrow.' But that all lovers were not such dullards the following pretty sonnet, taken from "Davison's Poetical Rhapsodies" may testify. It was sent with the gift of a ring, bearing the posy:

The stones with which the ring was set were susceptible of conveying a loving idea or message.. The gems usually selected were not the sparkling diamond, for purity; or turquoises, preservative of nor the gaudy ruby or emerald, but pearls truth. It is an old superstition that the turquoise sympathizes with its possessor, and becomes pale and faded in times of sickness and sorrow. The brighter gems may be used however, arranged so as to form a name or motto by their initial letters. It is said that the Prince of Wales presented his bride with a ring set with beryl, emerald, ruby, topaz, jasper, and emerald, forming the word "Bertie.

As the ring itself had a symbolical meaning, so the finger on which it is placed the third finger of the left hand -was once believed to have a peculiar There was an ancient belief that

virtue.

a nerve went direct from this finger to the heart. The Greek and Roman physicians term it the medical or healing finger, and were accustomed to stir their mixtures with it, from a belief that if anything evil touched it notice was immediately given by palpitation of the heart. A supersti tion still lingers in some parts of rural England, that a wound or sore may be cured by being stroked by the third finger of the left hand.

Sir Thomas Browne, in his essay on "Vulgar Errors," ridicules this notion; and quoting from Macrobius, says: "At first it was both free and usual to wear rings on either hand, but after that luxury increased, when precious gems and rich sculptures were added, the custom of wearing them on the right hand was translated unto the left, for that hand being

less employed, thereby they were best preserved."

The custom of breaking a gold or silver coin between lovers is also very ancient, and may probably have been derived from the old Athenian symbol. A piece of metal or wood was cut into two parts, one half being retained by the native of Attica, the other given to the stranger whose acquaintance he had made. The bearer of the symbol, whether one of the original parties or only a friend, was entitled to all the rites of hospitality from the owner of the other half. Not to acknowledge this duty was considered scandalous and a crime. Coins were no doubt subsequently used because of the facility of recognizing the token by the device. A "bowed,"

or crooked piece of money, was preferred as a love token, being considered more lucky. These broken coins, pledges of love, are frequently referred to in poem and story.

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Strutt mentions small embroidered handkerchiefs amongst the love favors in vogue in England in the olden time. They were about three or four inches square, wrought round about," with a button or tassel at each corner, and another in the centre. Some were edged with narrow gold lace or twist, and then folded so that the middle might be seen; they were worn by accepted lovers in their hats or at the breast. These were so fashionable in Queen Elizabeth's days that they were sold in the shops at from sixpence to sixteenpence a piece. Such dainty articles would be invaluable at fancy fairs; though one would imagine the real value of the little token would be from its having been "wrought round about" by the taper fingers of the fair donor. The facility of purchasing such must have been a temptation to the Will Honeycombs of Queen Elizabeth's time to display favors undeserved and unbestowed.

As the giving the hand is a pledge of amity and steadfastness, the gift of gloves may have been considered to have a similar meaning. Perfumed gloves were formerly much used both as New Year's gifts and love gifts. Autolycus sold "gloves as sweet as damask roses;" and Mopsa reminds her lover that he promised

her a

"tawdry lace and a pair of sweet gloves." When the gift came from the lady it was one of her own gloves, one she had worn that was given, thus render

"The peascod greene, oft with no little toyle
He'd seek for in the fairest fertil'st soile;
And rend it from the stalke to bring to her,
And in her bosom for acceptance woo her."

Our dear old philosophic friend Touchstone also refers to this custom. Speaking of his having been in love with Jane Smile, he says, "I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, said with weeping tears, 'Wear these for my sake.'

Camden, in his "Ancient and Modern Manners of the Irish," speaks of lovers presenting their mistresses with bracelets of woven hair; and amongst northern nations a knot was a symbol of love and fidelity. The origin of the expression true-love knot is not from true love, as might be supposed, but from the Danish "Trulofa fidem do"-I plight my troth.

Of all gifts that lovers have devised none are so graceful as flowers; so universally has this been acknowledged, that the lover of to-day sends the lady of his choice a bouquet, just as the ancient Greek or Roman sent a chaplet to bind his mistress's brow. It is to be feared, however, that much of the poetry of the gift is lost sight of. A guinea_bouquet from Covent Garden or Veitch's Conservatory is not the same as the flower group gathered and carefully arranged by loving hands according to the significance of the flowers. The language of flowers has become obsolete, and requires an interpreter. We may laugh at the old doggerel valentine:

"The lily is white, the violet bluc,

The rose is sweet, and so are you," but after all there is a sentiment in it, What sentiment can be attached to "gardenias" and "hojas" and "stephanotis" and all the rest of the gorgeous or perfumed beauties of the hothouse, foreign to English soil and to English tongue? In the East it is said the language of flowers is so well understood that a nosegay dropped from the lattice by the hennastained fingers of some dark-eyed houri is equivalent to a love-letter. The poets of all ages have delighted to associate the image of their mistresses with these sweet children of nature :

"There's not a pretty flower that blows, But minds me o' my Jean," sings Burns, who, next to Shakespeare, wrote some of the most delicious love songs in our language.

There is an old ballad-story that refers the institution of the Floral Games of Toulouse to the desire of commemorating one such tender and delicate love gift. In the days of chivalry there was a fair damsel of the name of Clemence Isaure, daughter of a Count of Toulouse. As was often the case, and will be while the world lasts, Clemence and the Count, her father, saw with different eyes; and while her father chose for her husband a wealthy baron, whose alliance would assist his ambitious views, Clemence had given her love to the Chevalier Lautrec, who had nothing to recommend him but a handsome person, a true heart, and a valiant arm. In vain the Count asserted his authority; her life was his to dispose of, was the answer of Clemence, but her heart was Lautrec's only. In those days means of compulsion were not far to seek. Clemence was imprisoned in a tower, there to continue till she had moulded her inclinations to her father's will. But love is keen witted; the Chevalier Lautrec soon discovered the place where his mistress was in durance, and made his appearance beneath her prison window. Clemence knew there was no safety for Lautrec if he should be discovered in her neighborhood, she therefore prayed him to leave her, urging him to seek service at the court of the French king, and to forget her. But this last entreaty, though spoken by the lips, did not come from the heart. So far from really wishing that he

should forget her, she gathered a few flowers that her prison contained for solace and recreation-a violet, her color-an eglantine, her favorite flower-and a marigold, burden of sorrow; and binding them together, kissing them, and watering them with her tears, she threw them down to her lover, that he might keep them in remembrance of her. Lautrec caught them as they fell, and pressing them to his lips, departed sorrowfully. Many days had not elapsed before a report reached Lautrec, then on his way to Paris, that the English had laid siege to Toulouse. Forgetting the Count's animosity-forgetting everything but his love for Clemence Isaure he turned his charger and rode back the way he had come. The inhabitants of the city were flying before their conquerors; one old man only held his ground; it was the Count. Lautrec at once rushed between the combatants, hewing down the assailants. He rescued the Count; but himself received a mortal wound. As he lay dying in the arms of the man he had saved he took the flowers Clemence had given him from his bosom, and with his last breath begged they might be returned to her. Clemence Isaure received the token, but never held up her head more. She died a few months after, bequeathing all her worldly possessions for the celebration of the Floral Games, in remembrance of her love gift.

Such was the legendary origin of the golden violet, the prize for which many love songs were written in the time of the Troubadours; the prize being given by the hand of the fair lady presiding at the cour d'amour.

Customs alter and fashions change; ornaments once valued are thrown aside as antiquated; the toys that pleased the child are neglected by the boy; and youth's delights are scorned by sober manhood. But love gifts never grow old-fashioned or out of date; they are always fresh from the golden age. Old people die, and desks and drawers are ransacked by their heirs. Take up tenderly the withered petals, the lock of hair, the quaint ring hidden away in some secret recess; for hearts have once thrilled and eyes moistened at their touch. Precious gems and rare objects there may be in casket and cabinet, but none preserved with such jealous care as these, for these were love gifts.