That same Henry III. was as gorgeous a dresser as his father, but he loved to see not only his wife, the fair Eleanor of Provence, whom he gallantly married without a dower, but also her ladies, as gorgeously attired as himself. Had he been as careful of paying for their dresses as he was in the selection of them (he was a dreadful fop, and would discuss lace and frippery with a lady with as much unnecessary knowledge as any Belgian _petit-maître_ of modern days), he might have passed reproachless. But he was one of those men who, after squandering their own money, squander that which they hold in trust: and then cheat their own tailors and their ladies’ milliners with a composition of five shillings in the pound. Henry, his Queen, and court glittered like dragon-flies, thought nothing of “settling day,” and turned up their noses at their more honest and less gaily-dressed kindred. The result was what might be expected. They got into pecuniary difficulties, and descended to the commission of intense meanness. They invited themselves out daily to dine with the wealthy aristocracy of London, whose dinners they ate and whose plate they carried away with them as a gift or a loan. In fact, Henry and Eleanor established a fashion which is far from being obsolete, so great is the authority for its observance. The extravagant are always mean,—mean and dishonest; they first cheat their creditors, and then _would_ cheat their more judicious relatives, were the latter weak enough to be persuaded that the very attempt is a compliment. I could not of course, but you, good reader, _can_ put your finger on a score of people who are like Henry and Eleanor in this,—living beyond their means, and looking to their more honest friends for aid to relieve them from the consequences of their knavery. Exactly; I see you smile as your eye falls on that pair of cousins of yours,—the lady all flounce, and the cavalier irreproachable in dress, and in nought besides! He has just asked you, a man with eight children, four hundred a year, and two servants, to put your name to that little bill. But you have been singed at that fire before, and you now decline. My dear Sir, if you will not allow yourself to be cheated by your extravagant relations, you cannot expect to be on good terms with _that_ part of your family. But you will find compensation for the loss of such a luxury at your own hearth and in your own heart. Why should you wrong those who cluster about both to help worthless people, who, if they could, would further do as Henry and Eleanor did, pawn the “Virgin Mary” to pay their jewellers’ bills. That precious couple compelled the sheriffs of various counties to furnish them with linen for their royal persons. Had _I_ been a sheriff at the time, they should have had huckaback, compared with which they would have found a hair-shirt a positive luxury!