But how was our revered critic attired? The soft, white hair, still quite abundant, was brushed straight over from the brow, not tied on top, but rolled as tightly as it could be drawn over what was then called a pillow,--now it would be, we presume, a _rat_,--and fastened on the top of the head by two long silver pins with arrow-heads; a spotless white mull cap with a very high crown and deep frill was put on over this pillow and tied with a broad black satin ribbon in a bow on top; a string of gold beads, a square of white lace folded over the shoulders and crossed in pleats in front, under the dress of heavy black satin; the waist of said dress made long down to the hips, with a point before and behind, the skirt not trailed but immensely full; very high-heeled slippers; and on her arm a large black satin bag, or _reticule_, embroidered with white beads, in which was the ever-present knitting-work, completed the costume. And this queerly dressed little grandmother scoffed at our newer style as being the height of absurdity. Her dress appeared appropriate to her, because we had never seen her otherwise attired; but with all affectionate deference to her superior wisdom, we thought it very ugly, and would have shrunk in disgust from wearing it ourselves; and doubtless our new dress in which we then rejoiced would strike our grandchildren now as equally undesirable. So fashion changes, and words of expostulation are wasted. But in this age of improvement, when we turn our backs on the things of old while something new is daily being developed or invented, the wonder is, that in the realms of Fashion we see so little purely original. Like a poor horse in a treadmill, she goes the same circuit, and about every fifty years she finds the end, and is compelled to return and reproduce, with some strange additions, but few improvements, the styles our grandmothers and great-grandmothers wore. The high heels, hoops, trains, and panniers of to-day are but the renewal of the fashions of a semi-barbarous age, which, once buried, should never have been revived. Addison, in many of his writings (see particularly papers 98 and 127 in the “Spectator”), severely criticises the prevailing fashions of his day. Many of these same deformities our better instructed women have for a year or two past foolishly reproduced. We may not quote his words, because the homely language of that period would shock our greater refinement, (although if it could be arranged for opera or theatre, his wholesome counsels might be listened to _in public_ without a blush!). There is much to be said, aside from the absurdity of the style, and its destruction of all grace and beauty, of the great extravagance which must attend the present fashions, breaking up many homes and alienating true love; and the permanent injury done to health, subjecting its devotees to long years, perhaps, of discomfort and lingering sufferings or an early grave. XXXI. LESSONS BY THE WAYSIDE.