So is woman, evanescent,

Shifting with the shifting present,
Changing like the changing tide,

And faithless as the fickle sea; Lighter than the wind-blown thistle, Falser than the fowler's whistle,

Was that coaxing piece of hoaxingAmy Milton's love for me.

Yes, thou transitory bubble!
Floating on this sea of trouble,
Though the sky be bright above thee,
Soon will sunny days be gone;
Then, when thou'rt by all forsaken,
Will thy bankrupt heart awaken
To these golden days of olden
Times in happy Babylon!

Thus, till summer was senescent,
And the woods were iridescent,
Dolphin tints and hectic hints

Of what was shortly coming on,
Did I worship Amy Milton;
Fragile was the faith I built on!-
Then we parted, broken-hearted
I, when she left Babylon.

As

upon the moveless water Lies the motionless frigata,

Flings her spars and spidery outlines.

Lightly on the lucid plain,

But whene'er the fresh breeze bloweth To more distant ocean goeth,

Nevermore the old haunt knoweth,
Nevermore returns again.

F. S. COZZENS.

"Nothing to Wear" had an extraordinary popularity in its day, and has not yet lost its adaptability to certain phases of fashionable society. From present prospects, indeed, its arrow of satire will not lose its point for several generations to come. The poem is much too long for us to quote entire, but we give sufficient of it to serve as an "awful warning" to the fair McFlimseys of the present day.

NOTHING TO WEAR.

MISS FLORA MCFLIMSEY, of Madison Square,
Has made three separate journeys to Paris,

And her father assures me each time she was there
That she and her friend Mrs. Harris

(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history,
But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery)
Spent six consecutive weeks, without stopping,
In one continuous round of shopping,-

Shopping alone, and shopping together,

At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather,
For all manner of things that a woman can put
On the crown of her head or the sole of her foot,
Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist,
Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,
Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,
In front or behind, above or below;
For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls;
Dresses for breakfasts and dinners and balls;
Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in;
Dresses to dance in, to flirt in, and talk in;
Dresses in which to do nothing at all;

Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall;

All of them different in color and pattern,

Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin,
Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material,
Quite as expensive, and much more ethereal;

In short, for all things that could ever be thought of,
Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of,
From ten-thousand-francs robes to twenty-sous frills;
In all quarters of Paris, and in every store.

While McFlimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore,
They footed the streets, and he footed the bills.

And yet, though scarce three months have passed since

the day

This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway,

This same Miss McFlimsey, of Madison Square,

The last time we met was in utter despair,

Because she had nothing whatever to wear!

NOTHING TO WEAR! Now, as this is a true ditty,
I do not assert-this, you know, is between us-
That she's in a state of absolute nudity,
Like Powers' Greek Slave or the Medici Venus;
But I do mean to say, I have heard her declare,
When at the same moment she had on a dress
Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less,
And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess,
That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear.

Since that night, taking pains that it should not be bruited Abroad in society, I've instituted

A course of inquiry, extensive and thorough,

On this vital subject, and find, to my horror,

That the fair Flora's case is by no means surprising,

But that there exists the greatest distress

In our female community, solely arising
From this unsupplied destitution of dress,
Whose unfortunate victims are filling the air
With the pitiful wail of "Nothing to wear."

O ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day

*

Please trundle your hoops just out of Broadway,
From its whirl and its bustle, its fashion and pride,
And the temples of trade which tower on each side,
To the alleys and lanes, where Misfortune and Guilt
Their children have gathered, their city have built;
Where Hunger and Vice, like twin beasts of prey,
Have hunted their victims to gloom and despair;
Raise the rich, dainty dress, and the fine broidered skirt,
Pick your delicate way through dampness and dirt,
Grope through the dark dens, climb the rickety stair
To the garret, where wretches, the young and the old,
Half starved and half naked, lie crouched from the cold.
See those skeleton limbs, those frost-bitten feet,

All bleeding and bruised by the stones of the street;
Hear the sharp cry of childhood, the deep groans that
swell

From the poor dying creature who writhes on the floor;
Hear the curses that sound like the echoes of Hell,
As you sicken and shudder and fly from the door;
Then home to your wardrobes, and say, if you dare,-
Spoiled children of Fashion,-you've nothing to wear!

And, oh, if perchance there should be a sphere
Where all is made right which so puzzles us here,
Where the glare and the glitter and tinsel of Time
Fade and die in the light of that region sublime
Where the soul, disenchanted of flesh and of sense,
Unscreened by its trappings and shows and pretence,

Must be clothed for the life and the service above,
With purity, truth, faith, meekness, and love,—
O daughters of Earth, foolish virgins, beware!
Lest in that upper realm you have nothing to wear!
WILLIAM A. BUTLER.

LABOR IN THE MIDDLE AGES.

CHARLES J. STILLÉ.

[From "Studies in Medieval History" we extract a portion of an interesting review of the conditions of labor in antiquity and in the Middle Ages, in view of the great prominence to which the modern labor question has now risen. The author, Charles Janeway Stillé, was born in Philadelphia in 1819. In 1866 he was elected professor of the English language and literature in the University of Pennsylvania, and in 1868 he became provost of that institution, which position he resigned in 1880. He is the author of several historical works, of which the one above named is a valuable study, on the general plan of Guizot's "History of Civilization in Europe," of the relations of the people of Europe in the mediæval period, and the varied steps of development from the commingled Roman civilization and German barbarism to modern political and social conditions.]

THERE is perhaps no more striking contrast between modern life and the life of antiquity and of the Middle Age than that presented by the different social position and influence of those engaged in trade, and especially in the industrial and mechanic arts, in the two epochs. At the present day, and especially in this country, the successful man of business is king, ruling our society in nearly all its departments with an authority as unchallenged, and often as arbitrary, as that of the most despotic sovereign who ever sat on a throne. With the natural disposition of mankind to worship success, those who