let them know what it all along thought of them. 
They are always suspected of using some wrong 
meaDS of enlarging their stores; the rich pub¬ 
lisher drinks his wine out or the skulls of authors 
—the landlord racks his tenants—the manufac¬ 
turer screws hla " hamls " down to starvation- 
wages. The house of Have 1 h thought to sweat 
the house of Want continually. 
Now, thB contrary Is the stronger truth, and 
t.hl8 Is w hat above all things fortltles my proposi¬ 
tion. The rich arp, In fact, constantly undergoing 
a drainage In behalf of the poor—sponged by 
them, losing by them, suffering by them. The 
rich sutler, and everybody tlilnks it all little 
enough ; while the poor enjoy the spoil behind 
the door, happy while it lasts, careless or to-mor¬ 
row, as well knowing that the cold-hearted, pru¬ 
dent, selfish rich people must, outof their stores, 
makegood every deficiency. 
It is said, too, that to be poor Is to be of no ac¬ 
count; to have one's wisdom disregarded, one’s 
Jokes unlaughed at, one’s word doubted, to be 
hustled Into tho kennel, and never asked out to 
dinner. There la some trut h here, too, a converse 
of what is admitted as to the influence connected 
with wealth, But It Is only h partial tTuth. 
Is there not an Irking anxiety everywhere to 
Bee soldiers promoted from the ranks, to get 
house-painters brought forward us artists, to see 
meritorious young preceptors marrying, In nov¬ 
els or otherwise, their employers’ daughters? 
When two young students compete for a prize, 
Isn’t there always a presumption In favor of the 
one who was a laborer's son ? Tho truth Is, the 
public seems to have a respect for wisdom In high 
places ; but It venerates against Its will. It has 
a secret, enjoyment In seeing that kind of wisdom 
prove foolishness. 
No ; ir you wish to be thought, well of, and to 
have the handsomest,construction put upon what 
you say and do-don’t be rlclt. If you would be 
an object of kind reeling wltb those around you 
—be not too well off. Would you avoid at once 
being cheated out of your money and condemned 
as an unfeeling monster—be a debtor as much as 
you like, bur never a creditor. What with vvliat 
you would be excused, what with what you would 
positively get* as a poor man, Lt Is by far the best 
situation. Any friend of mine who should get 
rich whether he will or not, I would advise to con¬ 
ceal his riches, if he still desires to thrive, or to 
be allowed to retain a decent proport ion of his 
property. As to striving for wealth, lr presents 
a most, lamentable view of human blindness and 
folly, as lt Is the very way to make yoursMf an 
object of envy, hatred and suspicion: to get you 
plundered without remorse; denied gratitude or 
approbation for your most generous actions; de¬ 
prived of the sympathies of the great bulk of 
your fellow-creatures, even of those who are 
bound to you by the dearest ties of nature; In 
short, made a painful solecism In the midst of 
society. 
mosses, and a purple haze, and hush, and calm, 
seemed to whisper peace and hope to earth’s 
tollers, if, was sucU an afternoon that a wedding 
party moved down the wlDdlngpath leading from 
the old ivied church on the hillside. 
They were all there, the blushing bride In her 
anowy garments, the proud bridegroom, the 
happy bridesmaids and t he gray-haired pastor, 
and as l watched them to the wide porch of the 
old yellow farm-house from which the bride had 
so lately gone forth a child, 1 wondered If for 
them awaited happiness or disappointment. 
Only a year and I look In again upon them. 
The honey-moon Is scarcely over, yet a shadow 
seems resting on the wile’s brow, a shade of dis¬ 
content, lurkB in the husband’s eyes. What does 
lt mean ? They loved each other truly, hut there 
was that In tlielr natures that could not flow on 
In unison, could not mingle, though their hearts 
might ache In tho struggle to master self. 
Two years more, and In the quiet village 
churchyard, they lay their llrst child, a smlllDg, 
dark-haired boy. It drew them nearer together, 
and for awhile the angel of peace folded his 
wings In the household. Years flew by, and In 
the grave, thoughtful man, and the quiet-faced 
woman, you would baldly recognize the bride 
and groom of long ago. They feel, though un¬ 
willing perhaps to acknowledge lt even to their 
own hearts, that for them life has no zest; only 
the love of gain stimulates them on, and if the 
wife eTcr thinks of the happy courting days, and 
the countless little attentions she was wont to 
receive, with a throb of agony she stifles the 
memory, and realizes that tor her thereisnaught 
but the russet, leaves of the fading years. 
Naught of that which Alls a true woman’s life 
with sweetness, that keeps the furrows from her 
brow, and the silver gleams from her hair. And 
If to the husband there ever rises the vision of a 
slender lovely maid, In tasteful attire and with 
beaming smile, he aare not look at the pale, sad 
woman who Uas arisen from the ashes of his 
boyhood’s love. Shall we blame them ? Where 
was the wrong? Were they mistaken In each 
other? Might not the impulses actuating each, 
have proved of rare merit, could they have been 
aided by kindred souls and appreciation ? 
Ten years, and by the little gras3-grown grave, 
another lorm is laid to rest. Poor mother l 
overtasked, uneherlsbed, she has at last laid 
down her burden, and for the Urst time In years 
the husband realizes that his love had never died; 
only remained dormant by the wearing humdrum 
of toll, unrefroshed by the non-responsive louglngs 
of bis nature. And now lu a dim, vague way he 
thinks that she too may have suffered, and a 
great tenderness fills him, and be longs to fold 
her to hla heart, and by greater forbearance on 
both sides, make life for each other something 
worth the living. But ’tls too late. 
Twelve years and the third mound Is mad6 in 
the churchyard. Aged and gray before bis time, 
, he has gone to his last home; and who shall say 
that over there, where mysteries are fathomed, 
and dreary misunderstandings righted, that hus¬ 
band and wife will not know each other; and In 
the love they have held sacred, find at last peace 
and happiness ? 
Only two lives, but who shall know of the 
heartaches, the woe accompanying each. Only a 
mistake, but such as will happen and continue to 
happen, while this sad, old world goes on and on. 
South Wallingford, Vt. 
worn them, and continue to do so at the present 
day ; and with Italians and Spaniards they have 
long been a national ornament . The nets worn 
In the thirteenth century were sometimes placed 
over the hair; at other times they were woven of 
gold thread and lined with silk. The plait across 
the face waa not of hair, but of gold wire, solid 
and stiff. The fur caps continued more In fash¬ 
ion than ever, and were frequently tied under the 
chin by a band of linen placed over them. An¬ 
other head-dress brought, into use amongst ladles 
of rank at t-hlB epoch, resembled the fur cap of 
the Lancers In shape, a number of ornaments 
projecting from the upper edge, looking like the 
polntsof arrows. A drapery attached to the back 
of this, something like a short veil, nearly 
reached the shoulders. 
In the fourteenth cemury good taste was en¬ 
tirely Ignored, and the hair was concealed by a 
variety of head-dresses of the most ridiculous 
and preposterous kind. One of these resembled 
Inform a duuce’s cap,but instead of standing 
quite erect, It had a curve over the head like a 
chimney-cowl. It was made of colored velvet: 
the rn ers—on which, In village schools of old, the 
terrible word “ dunce " used to be Inscribed In 
letters large eDOugb for all who ran, even at tho 
most distant, limits ot the bare school-room, to 
read—was of ermine. The back sometimes con¬ 
tinued In a flat square piece over the shoulder?, 
and was cut, In three stripes or tails by way of 
termination. Many ladles still allowed their hair 
to float loose, garlandea with chaplets of flowers 
of pearls. 
In the fifteenth century bad taste continued In 
tho ascendant. Moon-shaped head-dresses, with 
veils suspended across tbelr great projecting 
horns were thought exceedingly styllan. To vie 
with them In eccentricity, a cap like an ordinary 
extinguisher came luto vogue, auil rose at least 
two feet In lilght. A short veil ot black lined 
with yellow, or other colors, rested across tho 
head, and a line veil of muslin or lace hung from 
the point ot the cap nearly to the ground. It 
was usual for ladles to hold the end In their 
hands as they walked. These conical caps, worn 
upright, are bestowed by tradition upon magi¬ 
cians. In these caps, and In dresses ot flime- 
color painted all over with grotesque black 
devils, the unfortunate heretics In Spain suffered 
death at the Btake, by the Infamous decrees ot 
the Inquisition. The picturesque caps of the 
Normandy peasants yet remain as relics of the 
fashions of mediaeval times. Several varieties of 
ugly head-dresses of similar form made tbelr ap¬ 
pearance, and the hair was concealed by most of 
them. The consequence was a general alteration 
of doorways, which had to be raised lu hlght to 
admit the ladles. 
The hair was still very generally covered In tho 
sixteenth century. The ridiculous head-gear of 
the last epoch was abandoned. Ugly modes and 
caprices of fashion rarely last long: they die out. 
of themselves a natural death. Still there wa? 
no true exercise of taste. The hair was most fre¬ 
quently hidden, and the head ornaments were 
not particularly becoming, with the exception of 
the Mario Stuart bonnet, so well known, and sup¬ 
ported by tresses rolled back over pads. Before 
the introduction of this stylo hoods were In gen¬ 
eral requisition, such as were worn by Elizabeth 
of York, queen of Henry the Seventh, at the dose 
of the previous century, and afterwards by Anne 
Boleyn and Lady .Tana Grey. These hoods were 
very simple, neat, and modest-looking; but other 
fashions, less desirable, prevailed In Elizabeth’s 
reign. One resembled the Marie Stuart bonnet, 
but, lustead of bending In the center lt continued 
In a stngle curve across the top of the hair, which 
was rolled off the face equally all round the brow. 
Outside a wide and tall aigrette covered the top 
of the head and stood upright several Inches. 
Another hat resembled that, already described, 
except, that In place of the aigrette It had a con¬ 
ical, bell-shaped crown, and as an ornament a 
very long ostrich feather, straggling In the air 
from the point of tho cone. But the ruff of mus¬ 
lin edged with lace was, par excellence, the inven¬ 
tion of that, day, and, satisfied with that, but 
little fancy was employed on coiffures. 
Satirists wbo delight In ridiculing the toilettes 
of our day, and who show no mercy la their cen¬ 
sure, or measure In their fun, when they draw 
their steel from the Ink and write the word 
“ chignon,” would turn pale, with envy of their 
happier brethren who lived In the golden days of 
Good Queen Bess, if they could or would for one 
brief minute look upon the sketch of a lady or 
those bygone times. The hair was drawn from 
the face In front lu a way that ail who arc 
familiar with pictures of the virgin queen will 
rcadli y call to mind. At the back of the head the 
hair was similarly drawn up. it, was supported 
all round over a cushion, depressed in the center, 
so as to give It the shape Of a royal crown. A 
string ot gems, studded wltb medallions, en¬ 
circled the mass of distorted tresses, and the ruff 
spread Its well-starched folds Jealously round 
the fair throat. We smile upon the quaint and 
ungraceful tashlon as we look at It now, but had 
we lived In those days, and possessed the entree 
to elite society, that Is undoubtedly how we 
should have altired ourselvee, and regarded the 
whole thing as perfectly comme Ujaut, 
love, my husband, was put living into rue 
and stifled by Ills beautiful wife’s mad hands , 
his young wire of sixteen summers locked up his 
life and the secret of her crime, and sat down 
heartlessly beside lt to perform her cruel life- 
watch. Let her die. 
HAIE-DEESSING, ANCIENT AND MOD 
EEN. 
Long hair waa greatly valued In the early 
days by Britons and Anglo-Saxons. The Saxons 
themselves had beautiful hair. France was an- 
“ Gallia Cromata,” or Long-haired 
.:r.: Both nations con- 
great degradation to cut off the 
them; indeed, 
clently called 
Gaul, for the same reason, 
sldered it a very L - 
abundant tresses bestowed upon 
there were times when such an act inevitably 
entailed Joss of social position. Nuns on assum¬ 
ing the veil, after they have taken the Anal vow, 
suffer their long hair to be cut off cluso to the 
head, as a substantial token of thdr .renuncia¬ 
tion of all worldly vanity. Amongst ourselves 
It Is one of the punishments reserved for crlmln 
als. Women dread the loss of their hair far 
more than.the Incarceration within the walls 
of a penitential cell. 
The most remarkable thing to observe Is that 
some ladles voluntarily shear tbelr glories, and 
appear with a fuzzy crop of curls like a shoolboy. 
During the tenth century In France, ladles 
•wore their hair arranged In very good taste, and 
in a manner which pronaby they had borrowed 
from the Romans, who had conquered and col¬ 
onised Germany, Gaul, Spain, and Britain. 
Another, and simpler way of arranging the 
hair than that frequently adopted, was the still 
popular and const,autly recurring “ Empress" 
st yie—the hair merely rolled back from the face 
without artlflcal aid. aud at the back of the head 
wound Into a knot,. 
The ancient, Britons had dark brown hair ; the 
Saxons flaxen and blonde; and the Danes red. 
Extremely brilliant and beautiful shades of 
yellow, golden, and auburn hair are also 
generally attributed to the Danes. These colors 
wilt be fouud predominant t,o this day In parts 
ot England where the Panes settled—for Instance, 
In the neighborhood of Hastings—and the coun¬ 
try people are so well acquainted with or so fully 
persuaded of the fact, that It Lh not. at all un- 
common to hear them “ dialling ” a red-headed 
fellow-lahoror as a Dane. Every one will re¬ 
member the anecdote of the beautiful Anglo- 
Saxon boys who were taken to Rome and ex¬ 
posed for sale In the slave market, where their 
delicate feat,urcB, blue eyes, and, above all, tbelr 
fair hair, such as It was customary to ascribe 
to angels In the pictures of the day, drew the 
attention of tho Pope Gregory, causing him to ask 
who they were, and when answered “ Angles,” 
to exclaim, “ say rather, angels.” 
The mode ot arranging hair In two long plaits 
requires special notice, lt Is equally distinctive, 
and and stlU more general than the “ Empress’* 
rolls and knot, at, the back of the head. The ori¬ 
gin of plaits seems to have been Oriental. Chin¬ 
ese maidens at tho present, day wear a single 
plait at the back of the head, which reaches the 
ground. The Turkish ladles wear the two plaits 
precisely as worn from the. tenth to the thirteenth 
century. 
Thefavourlte Turkish ornament Isa bouquet 
of flowers, Imitated In precious stones ot the 
natural colors. At a recent bauker’s ball in 
Parts, the most remarkable ornaments of the 
evening, lu ail assembly where Jewels of the 
rarest, description were seen la the utmost pro¬ 
fusion, was a wreath of flowers represented In 
tlielr natural colors by jewels, and crowning the 
fair head of the wealthy owner, who was, of 
course, tlio observed of observers. The Idea 
was supposed to be novel. 
Many of the nindoo ladies also wear two long 
plaits, and for adornment, a line gold chain 
clasped round the bead by a medallion, with a 
jewel pendent on the forehead. Not a few of 
them are extremely handsome In complexion 
—more transparent a nd little darker than Span¬ 
iards. Tlielr features are aquiline, the eyes 
almond-shaped, the hair blue-black, and the 
hands slender and taper. The plaited hair Is 
BRIC-A-BRAC, 
Two consumptives, one just recovering from 
hemorrhage and the other with a nasty cough, 
met. It was a question ot going a journey, but 
their means were, like themselves, exhausted. 
“I have lt!” exclaimed one, between attacks 
of coughing, “ we’ll ride. I will furnish the hack, 
and you can supply the g’luug 1” 
THE ADVANTAGE OF BEING POOR 
Much libelous matter has been written on tomb¬ 
stones about wives. Witness this from Selby, In 
Yorkshire: 
" Here lies my wife, a sad plnttorn and shrew; 
If I said I regretted her, I should Me too.” 
Here Is another, often attributed to Dryden, but 
to be found In the French long before: 
" Here lies rtiy wife; here let her lie; 
She’s at rest, and 60 am I." 
The following one breathes a spirit of resigna¬ 
tion which Is far les3 abrupt. There Is also a ludi¬ 
crous touch of the polite about lt: 
“ She once wag mine; 
And now. 
To thee, O Lord, I her resign: 
And am your obedicut humble servant, 
Robert Kemp." 
Here is one from Hertford, which Is simply atro¬ 
cious. It takes the form of a dialogue: 
WOMAN. 
"Grieve not for me, my husband dear, 
1 am not dead, but sleeping, here; 
With patience wait, prepare to die, 
And in short time you’ll come to I." 
RV CABOUTP, 
I am clearly ot opinion that lt Is better, on tbe 
whole, to be poor than rich. Mark my phrase, 
“on the whole.” .Something must depend on 
tastes and dispositions—something on habits; 
but, on the whole, to bo just comrortably poor, 
and not too poor, is belter than being rich. 
Become notedly wealthy, and what Is your 
fate? To be envied, backbitten, taxed, plundered, 
and have all sympathies set against you. Re¬ 
main poor, ami it la exactly the reverse. You 
are an object of universal forbearance, even to 
the tax-gatherer and the thief. You ure sympa¬ 
thized with, coddled, flattered. In any dispute, 
controversy, or litigation with a rich man, you 
are, In right ot poverty, regarded as a victim of 
oppression—you wilt get law for nothing, and 
have a subscription made for ycu; and, even 
should the matter ultimately be decided against 
you, you cannot suffer, having nothing to lose, 
and you will at least have the satisfaction of 
seelDg your adversary mulcted in his own ex¬ 
penses. 
If you become Insolvent, you are at once a 
martyr, surrounded by a set of persecutors under 
the name or creditors. The world rallies round 
you, to see that you are allowed to make hand¬ 
some terms for youiself, and not called on to sac¬ 
rifice too much of your accustomed comfort. If 
you gel Into a novel or a play, you will And your¬ 
self luvested with every virtue under heaven, 
and surrounded with models of wives and 
daughters—the very Apotheosis or Debt I The 
public may not be very ready to guarantee a new 
cash-credit for you at the bank; but lt will at 
least frown down the slightest attempt of your 
former guarantees or securities to save them¬ 
selves, at your expense, from any of the losses 
they are threatened with in your behalf. 
It, Is said lliat rich men are courted, have posi¬ 
tion, enjoy Influence. Well, they do possess a 
certain command over their fellow-creatures lu 
these ways. But It Is all hollow. The public 
hates them all the time. It woul l far rather not 
MAN. 
“ X am not grieved, my dearest life, 
Sleep on—I’ve got another wife; 
Therefore, I cannot come to thee. 
For I mast go and live with she." 
We all, In a greater or loss degree, experience 
the force of Dope’s words that “there’s a happi¬ 
ness as well as care." But while we are but too 
painfully familiar with the causes of the latter, 
we are orten profoundly Ignorant of the sources 
of the former. Indeed, the highways to happiness 
are neither few nor straight. In the pursuit of 
happiness we can travel on dtvers roads, and 
these the best known ami frequented. As a vast 
deal ot poetry Is intermingled with the common 
affairs of every-day life, bo springs of happiness 
issue forth abundantly around us in ibis weary 
work-a-day world. Men’s ordinary avocations 
may be made a salient source or happiness; so 
that labor, from belDg part of the primeval curse, 
may be transformed Into an incalculable bless¬ 
ing. The labor to which most men are subjected, 
by becoming a necessity of tbelr existence, has a 
ONLY. 
BY EVA EDGERTON, 
Only an autumn afternoon, when tffe mellow 
September sunshine was gliding the hill-tops 
with a golden glory, when the mountains were 
aflame with the rich tints which the frost artist 
had painted so carelessly, when the air was 
heavy with the spicy breath of woody ferns and 
