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 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:

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 continously and for ever." 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 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

ning "a sonnet to their mistress's eyebrow." But that all lovers

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:

PURE AND ENDLESSE.

If you would know the love which you I beare,
Compare it to the ring which your fair hand
Shall make more precious, when you shall it weare;
So my love's nature you shall understand.
Is it of metall pure? So you shall prove

My love, which ne'er disloyal thought did staine.
Hath it no end? So endless is my love,

Unlesse you it destroy with your disdaine.
Doth it the purer wax the more 'tis tri'de?
So doth my love; yet herein they dissent:
That whereas gold the more 'tis purifi'de,

By waxing lesse, doth shew some part is spent,
My love doth waxe more pure by your more trying,
And yet encreaseth in the purifying.

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, nor the gaudy ruby or emerald, but pearls for purity; or turquoises, preservative of 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 virtue. There was an ancient belief that 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 superstition 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 'Yulgar 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.

Strutt mentions small embroidered handkerchiefs amongst the love favours 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 favours 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 rendering the token more charming than all the perfumes of "far Inde." One of the poets of the Elizabethan age writes to his lady love on receiving from her a glove:

"Since thou, dear hand, in theft so much delighted,
Why fall'st thou now a-giving?

Ay me! Thy gifts are thefts, and with strange art,
In giving me thy glove, thou steal'st my heart!"

One singular form of divination formerly employed in love affairs was by the peascod. A peascod growing on the stem was quickly plucked; if the peas growing within remained unscattered it was considered a good omen, and it was then presented to the chosen fair

one. This curious love gift is mentioned in Browne's 'Britannia's Pastorals':

"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.'

6

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 blue,

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 henna-stained 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

VOL. XXXI.

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 neighbourhood, 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 colour-an eglantine, her favourite flower-and a marigold, burthen 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.