of this kind we confess we have no patience for.  We are very intolerant of it.  It is a vulgarity which, wherever it may be found, is most offensive.  We go even further still, and are disposed to blame all who, whatever their circumstances or condition may have been or may be, dress beyond their means.  It is possible that some relics of past grandeur may yet remain to be worn on state occasions.  With that no one can quarrel; but it is a mistake to make great and unwarrantable sacrifices in order to replenish the exhausted wardrobe on its former scale of magnificence.  It is better far to accept fate, to comply with the inevitable, and not waste time and strength in fighting against the iron gates of destiny.  No one, whose esteem is worth having, will respect us less because we dress according to our means, even if those means should have dwindled into insignificance.  But if we toil unduly to make ourselves appear to be something that we are not, we shall earn contempt and reap disappointment.  It is far more noble-minded to bid farewell to all our greatness, than to catch greedily at any of the outlying tinsel that may remain here and there.  This indicates good taste more than anything.  To be what we are, really and simply, and without pretension, is one of the greatest proofs of good feeling which, in matters of dress, resolves itself into good taste.

There is nothing more hateful than pretension.  The fable of the “Frog and the Bull” illustrates the absurdity of it.  Yet it is of every-day occurrence, and we continually meet with instances of it.  Persons in humble class of life will often ape their betters, dressing after them, and absolutely going without necessary food in order to get some piece of finery.  Fine gowns of inconvenient length, expanded over large crinolines—­silk mantles richly trimmed,—­often conceal the coarsest, scantiest, and most ragged underclothing.  We have seen the most diminutive bonnets, not bigger than saucers, ornamented with beads and flowers and lace, and backed up by ready-made “chignons,” on the heads of girls who are only one degree removed from the poor-house.  Servant-girls who can scarcely read, much less write,—­who do not know how to spell their names,—­who have low wages,—­and, as little children, had scarcely shoes to their feet,—­who perhaps never saw fresh meat in their homes, except at Christmas, when it was given them by some rich neighbour,—­spend all their earnings on their dress, appear on Sundays in hats and feathers, or bonnets and flowers, and veils and parasols, and long trailing skirts, which they do not care to hold up out of the dirt, but with which they sweep the pavement.  Can it be said that this is good taste?  Assuredly not.  It could not well be worse.

The question of station and of means does not seem to rule the world in general.  Everything is considered to be suited to every body; and the maid-of-all-work does not hesitate to copy, to the utmost extent of her power, the dress of the greatest lady in the land.  She does not see why she should not dress as she likes, and is not restrained in her wish by good taste.  We do not wish to argue in favour of any monopoly, but we confess that we should like to see people of all classes regulated by good taste in matters of dress.