of the head in an exasperating manner; heavy lappets, that instead of being the natural termination of something else, hang meaningless and mutilated; slashes that are sewn upon the sleeve instead of breaking through it; and other things of the same kind—they leave the eye unsatisfied, discontented, often disgusted, and these are artistically immoral.

Simplicity.

Indeed, the truth is, we have far too many subdivisions of attire about us to manage them properly. If we had but half the flounces and furbelows, and upper and under and middle skirts, and aprons and sashes, and 'coat-tails' and festoons, we should just have half the difficulty in combining and arranging effects. It is easier to drive two horses than six, as poor Phaeton could have told us when he upset the chariot of the sun. He was an ignorant driver, and so too often is a woman in the matter of dress. We ought never to admit an addition to our unmanageable team, without due reason. We might dispense with half our complicated folds, our whalebones, our scrunched toes, our immoveable arms, and many other miseries, and look less like mere blocks for showing off clothes, and more like human beings; but we can't bear to let the housemaid

or the crossing-sweeper think we have got a sixpence in our pockets when it can be hung or piled on our backs, and we go about loaded like the celebrated camel who finally collapsed under a straw.

Nevertheless, when I hint at simplicity of attire, I am not looking back longingly to '93, and wishing to see Englishmen and Englishwomen render themselves the guys--I had almost said the revolting guys—that the victims of Jacques Louis David's classic mania did, when they tried to be imitation Greeks. This painter, in many respects great, in others mistaken, felt deeply the inner and outer corruption of his time. He viewed with disgust the melancholy décadence of the once beauteous Watteau' costume, and the prevalent uncleanliness, artificiality, ugliness, and waste of precious time, entered into his soul. He believed that a return to the simplicity of the earlier world was the only reformation possible, and, like the other enthusiasts for reform at that terrible time, he went too far. Old Greece could not be resuscitated by a change of apparel; but he shared the universal mania for antique standards, and his influence on the fashion was very remarkable, for he succeeded in completely reversing the style of dress worn, and introduced that simplicity which in our colourless clime and unæsthetic minds so soon developed into the worst ugliness. The waist was hoisted to the arm

pits and the bodice became a mere legend. There were not too many petticoats, and no folds; and as the entire form and action of the body were distinguishable, a lady had to be very careful how she crossed her legs, lolled on sofas, or ran across a room. To do such things gracefully was the study of every girl; hence, walking, and entering a room, taking a seat, &c., were practised under artistes, as we have since practised the rapid steps of modern round dances. There was plenty of satire at our expense then, naturally, and not without ground, for simplicity too often gave place to mere indelicacy, and there was no means of disguising thinness or fatness or anything else then. Moreover, there were fanatics who outran David in their desire to be conspicuous, such as the Parisian Merveilleuses who performed many follies under the great artist's wing

Pink tights emulating bare legs, and muslin gowns. flung as loosely over the tights as the most paradisiac taste could wish, are only indecent, not picturesque or beautiful, for no generations of care have made the British body perfect like the Greek's; and when men take to wearing their hair plaited and combed after Apollo, and indiarubber continuations (about as much like the Greeks as shell flowers are like real ones), the result must be called ridiculous and nothing else; whilst the more decorous votaries, who make a compromise between

D

goddess and mortal, such as the dress our grandmothers wore, can at best look only like resuscitated victims of the auto da fé-luckless women who, having been tied up in sacks and flung into the river, have saved themselves by kicking out the sack-bottom (an appearance rather favoured by the 'classic' chevelure, which was eminently damp-looking), and are on their way home to be dried.

Let us have no burlesque parodies of classic simplicity, yet let us curb our insatiable passion for sticking everything we can procure, feathers and flounces, beads, birds'-nests, tabs, tinsel, and tails all over us, anywhere, like wild Indians or the Terebella. Alas! how like we are to the Terebella! Perhaps you ask what is the Terebella?

The Terebella is a little creature that lives in the sea, to whose tender body nature has allotted no protective covering, and which cleverly sets itself to supply the want with a taste about as fastidious as that shown by our own fair countrywomen. It collects materials for its little coat with the same rapacity, and often with as little judgment—for some of its most ambitious ornaments being more costly than it can afford, have actually led to its own destruction! Nothing comes amiss to it. Sand, shells, pieces of straw, sticks or stones, atoms of sea-weed, every kind of débris within its reach, good, bad, or indifferent, it will collect and stick upon itself,

agglutinated together by a secretion that among marine animals takes the place of needle and thread. It has even been known to add a heavy chignon pebble to its load, more inconvenient than serviceable, after quite a human fashion! When its laborious coat is finished, it thrusts out its triumphant head and rejoices. This little creature is one of the annelids, and the pretty name of Terebella, though belonging to the sea, would not always be out of place on shore.

Form.

As for shapes of dresses, a good way of testing the beauty of form is by drawing the outline of a dress, and looking at it from all points of view, and with half-closed eyes. This test, applied to that form of gown which was so long in vogue- the long, pinched waist, and the unnatural width of the hips, low neck, and no sleeves-proves the extreme ugliness of it. Observe the sketch. This gown, in outline, simply looks like a very ill-shaped wineglass upside down.

The wide crinoline

entirely conceals any natural grace

FIG. 1.

of attitude; the horizontal line across the neck invariably