that he has made moral education the initiation and substance of his system. He has seen that the human being is given to us to educate, with all the moral elements still in harmony, the Will in full force, the Heart in full sensibility, and then he is thrown into nature which he does not know, but has an instinct that it will afford him the means of satisfying that heart by the exercise of that will. The child is utterly dependent on those about him for this part of his experience, just as he is for his bodily life, for as a material being he is the most helpless of God's creatures; and why? Because God means that the child should be helped by those about him; relations with whom make the elements of individual happiness, and communion with whom is a mutual moral education, the adult getting as much from the child's innocence, if he will study out its origin and meaning, as the child can get from the adult-indeed more-for the adult can do nothing more than lead him into normal relation with nature and his kind in his individual earthly life, while the child, comprehended by him, leads the adult into the kingdom of heaven, as Christ says. I would therefore earnestly say, let whoever has been impressed with Mrs. Diaz's appalling statement of the need of moral education to the community, study Froebel, and learn that the Kindergarten is the moral education given to the child to "keep his heart diligently," while he eats the fruits of the tree of knowledge, whose deadly effects can be neutralized only by the fruits of the tree of life, which, if he does not get at first, he will have to fight his way to later, through the suffering which the grand old parable that begins the written Revelation, symbolized by the Cherubim and the sword that turns every way.

WOMAN AND HER TRIMMINGS.

BY ELIZA S. TURNER.

Exceeding fair she was not; and yet fair

In that she never studied to be fairer

Than nature meant her; beauty cost her nothing.-Chapman.

THE wolf is a chasing animal, the monkey an imitating animal, man an inventing animal, woman a trimming animal. Thus it has been in our past, and will it be so

in our future? Is woman to figure forever in the scale of existence as not only the trimming, but distinctively the trimmed animal of the planet? The one creature for whom Jehovah's plan of the creation is not a sufficient warrant? The one type that must be re-shaped, re-colored, re-gaited, in short as the great Prof. Blot so frequently remarks of his cookery, "improved," before she dare present herself to the world for a valuation? I think these questions are capable of an answer. So far as the disposition to ornament the body is in conformity with the essential laws of our human nature, it will continue in spite of argument and ridicule; so far as it is merely a phase of human development, a childish manifestation of a still youthful race, we may expect in time to grow beyond it. That the present inordinate value placed by us on personal upholstery is characteristic of such a stage of progress, and is not characteristic of a sex, I am as certain as I am that men are at present, taking all Christendom, on a higher plane of development than women.

I believe that there has been no phase of frivolity, helplessness, or extravagance, at any time exhibited by one sex, which has not, in each case at a rather earlier date,

its counterpart in the other sex.

Witness the time when a London beau was ashamed to appear on the street on his own two feet, divested of the Bath chair which should enshrine and support him. Witness the time when a gentleman was no gentleman unless arrayed in shoes with points so immensely long that they must be attached to his waist with silken cords. Witness the tragic times when noblemen were reduced to suicide or highway robbery through their necessities in the one item of laces for their personal adornment. Witness that melancholy summer night, one hundred years ago, when the British Parliament was suddenly dissolved because the extreme heat, and consequent perspiration, made the paint run in gutters down the cheeks of the statesmen.

Yet we see that our brother has gradually delivered himself from his bondages and bandages, and now stands forth a freedman, in clothing perhaps a trifle too rigidly exclusive of color and picturesqueness, but far more compatible than ours with convenience, modesty and health.

The truth is, the modern American gentleman has work to do, and uses for himself and his body in manifold directions, and he cannot afford to be incapacitated at every turn by his garments. It would not suit him. either at work or play, to go about in breeches stuffed with bran, like his ancestors, nor in petticoats like the old Romans, nor in trains carried by pages like the cardinals, nor in trousers trailing a yard beyond his feet like the Japanese courtiers. Moreover, life is to him so full of purposes and interests of real importance, that to be involved in a system of dressing demanding nearly half his time and nearly all his mental attention would make him feel like George Eliot's Dorothea, to whom "the destinies of mankind, as seen by the light of Christianity, made the solicitudes of fashion appear an occupation for Bedlam.” Why, then, do we, whose allotment of time is not a day longer than man's, still act so strangely in our apportionment of it? And why does not woman, who is awaking more and more to a sense of her own capabilities, and demanding a chance for their exercise; woman, whose demand is answered by ever new and broadening fields of usefulness, why does she not yet see that in entering the lists of activity, she is struggling with a cumbrousness of armor under which no man would dare to compete with his fellows?

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Because," say many, “the especial business of woman is to please; and thereto she has been endowed with a longing for admiration which takes the form of personal exhibition. And this passion, being an instinct, is not to be eradicated by reason.” To the latter part of this theory we will reply.

There is scarcely any subject about which the world makes so many mistakes, as the subject of instinct. Human nature, we say, must be the same in all ages, because it is rooted in a few universal instincts. So it is, and these are exactly what we share with the brutes. The instinct of wolves to kill the sick wolf is manifested in several of our savage tribes, who pay the like attention to their aged parents; yet the same human nature, civilized, cares tenderly for the feeble. Instinct teaches the queen bee and the Polynesian mother to murder their inconvenient daughters; which is not exactly our way of expressing maternal promptings. Instinct leads the Lyre-bird, inviting the attention of his beloved to himself, to rely on the merits of his absurdly beautiful, top-heavy tail. It swells the breast of the argus pheasant with exultation in the courting garb which makes him as helpless for locomotion as a fashionable lady. It inspired the gallant of past generations to appear before his mistress in satins and jewels and paint; devices a modern wooer would not disgrace himself by resorting to.

The truth is that our original instincts, like our original fruits, are the acrid, harsh, sometimes even poisonous beginnings of what shall by cultivation develop into nourishment, sweetness and beauty. And so when we say of any yet crude manifestation of what is called human nature, that it will be the same in all ages, we are

wrong.

How then shall we account for our present slavery? And what is, after all, the power that enslaves us? There is no King in this country, and as we are not officeholders, none of us care for the President. Ah, but woe unto us, there is a queen! Who she is, what she is, no one knows; nor what the precise retribution following any given violation of her edicts. Inscrutable, multifarious, merciless, all we can say with precision was discovered by some researching Englishman: to wit, that her appalling name is Grundy. This, then, is the Moloch feminine who eats up our precious hours, and makes us caricature our faces and forms in twenty ways a year to suit her crazy caprices. Not to please ourselves, but her, do we carry about us at least one-half the burden of beads, buttons, bugles, spangles, ear-knobs, edgings, crimpings, flutings, pleatings, flouncings, and all the rest of the tatterdom of flimsy, frayable, soilable outrigging that makes us unfit for efficient work or comfortable play.

This is very sad; but is it so inevitable? Are we sure; now are we perfectly sure? I hardly dare to breathe it, and yet I will. Friends, I ask you to climb with me to the height of a wild supposition. Let us imagine all the gentry in the United States invited to one gigantic ball. Then let us fancy the ladies preparing to attend it, and try to apprehend, say in cubic miles, the outlay in money, the outlay in time, the mental anxiety, and the number of good sleeping hours perverted to needle-work, necessary, not to make these people pleasant and beautiful to each other, but to make them an acceptable sacrifice to the eyes of Mrs. Grundy.

See them enter the halls of pleasure; fatigue and nervous anxiety clinging to their flower-wreaths, and dragging their trains, and making their jewelled haircastles heavy with headache.

Let us observe how every word, action, glance of these pleasure-seekers is robbed of its spontaneity by an indefinable, all-pervading atmosphere of mistrust; a consciousness in each of being momently on guard against all the others; as if their airy garments and their cautiously flippant words were all a part of the same protective armor, and the main object of their meeting was to prevent the opening of the smallest chink through which the spear of a prying glance might enter. Yet we, by our magic, will enter, and read the intimidated soul of one of these poor revellers. What is this gnat-like buzzing of thoughts that mar the music? "Am I right? Will I do?

Has my train the true hang? Has my pannier the proper set? How many Mrs. Grundys are at this moment whispering to their neighbors that I have no style? There is one looking straight at me now! Good Heaven! the lace on her overskirt is almost plain, while mine is all in gathers! She knows I feel it—she knows that mine was made by a second-rate dressmaker!" But let us withdraw from this afflicted brain, and enter that of the Mrs. G. alluded Here is an equal buzzing. Am I right? Will I do? I fear I have made a mistake in my flowers; there isn't a wreath in sight of just this shade. There is a Mrs. Grundy looking at me. Good Heaven? the lace on her overskirt is gathered, while mine is almost plain! She knows-I feel it-she knows that I made it myself!"

to.

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And now, my friends, a crisis approaches. The mind of each Mrs. G. (for to every woman in society all the rest may be G.'s) is at the same instant illumined by a

WOMAN AND HER TRIMMINGS.

Each is thinking with a flash of delight and glimpse into the mind of the other G. wonder: "Why, I needn't be afraid of her; she is actually afraid of me!" Snap, crack, from one to another of those uneasy thousands passes the electric spark; and wherever it touches, the eyes lose their guarded expression, the half tense muscles relax, and a sense of wondrous relief pervades the multitude.

Even those who never knew they were bound, awoke, as would an unswaddled Sioux infant, to a sudden joyful consciousness of freedom. And now comes a second shock of illumination, and each not only knows, but knows that the rest know.

Then like a jubilant storm of music arise the explanations.

And you were really afraid of me?"

"Yes. And you don't think the worse of me for not wearing real Valenciennes ?" "No. And you don't think I'm out of style in gloves that are only three button? Between ourselves, I hate style."

"Between ourselves, I never could tell exactly what it is."

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Let's take off our gloves."

'Let's pin up our trains."

"Don't let's pretend we like classical music."

"I will if you

will."

I won't if you won't."

Thus on every side keep snapping the useless chains.

And do we in our new freedom abolish law?

tinent.

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Heaven forbid! We keep the laws of taste; the laws of art; the laws of Christianity; only the idiot laws of Grundy shall be a dead letter, now and evermore. Friends, we can see how this night's mutual explanation might revolutionize a conA continent? nay, a hemisphere; nay, a planet. For could such a discovery be kept a secret? Why, the news has already crossed the Atlantic. From empire to empire, even through black-liveried England, sweeps the mysterious whisper: Something is the matter with Mrs. Grundy." Then louder, and each time louder: Mrs. Grundy's whipthongs are turning to feathers. Mrs. Grundy is afraid. Mrs. Grundy is a coward." Then, with a clang that rings all the telegraph wires and rattles the printing presses and makes the cable jump again: Grundy! Liberty, equality, blessedness! Woman is free!" But now, alas, we must down from the vantage ground of our supposition, and acknowledge that no such revelation, as yet, will be. Eternity; the capacity to apprehend them waits in Time. that this important secret, upon which I have accidentally stumbled, will remain a secret for all my telling, like the enchanted whereabout of Merlin, to those who, unseeing, daily passed him by.

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There is no Mrs.

Truths were born with

And thus it may happen

But however the world might come to regard Mrs. Grundy, (she doesn't exist, but no matter,) we should still desire to look well in the eyes of each other. Assuming this to be a worthy object, how shall we best accomplish it? Manifestly by making A perfect form or face can our toilet, beyond the needs of convenienee and protection, such as to enhance the charms, or modify the defects, of the individual wearer. Take the Apollo Belvidere; you may put on his head not be affected by costume. a nightcap, or a villainous bandanna, or even a stovepipe hat, without detracting in the slightest from the dignity of his beauty. But one who, possessing some beauties, deviates more or less from the classic perfection can always be improved, or the reverse, by clothing. An actor who understands his business can make himself up by merely exaggerating with dress the defects of his figure to almost any degree of And he can, on the other hand, so conceal these defects as to enhance

uncouthness.

his natural gracefulness. It follows that scarce one woman in a thousand can do full justice to her own appearance without deviating in some degree from the whatever prevailing fashion.

And this is the point at which I would begin to advocate the rebellion against Mrs. Grundy (if she existed; but never mind.) Surely there is strength enough in womankind—average womankind, desiring to look its best, and intelligently inquiring into the means for accomplishing that object--surely it is able by this time to say, "I will conform in a general way to fashions as they arise; but I must and will take the liberty of modifying them to suit my individual case." There is no reason in life why, with all our anxiety for appearance, we should not try to make costume a fine art, instead of remaining all at sea, and at the mercy of every whiff of fashion that chooses to upset us.

All at sea, all at sea; and not right-rigged for running in either fair or foul weather, and we don't know how to do better. "Ha, here comes an odd little craft; and of all the queer cut sails! Well, I'll never rig that way, never. Bless me, here comes another, and another-a fleet of them. And now I look again, they are all the newest, prettiest boats-that must be the best way after all." Down comes last month's outfit; up goes a full suit of sail, unlike the last in all respects, except a general unfitness for locomotion. And here lies the chief obstacle to individuality in costume. The fresh young girls, and still youthful and graceful women, whose beauty is sufficient to carry any monstrosities, are apt to lead the fashions, and are not, as a class, disposed to think of reforms. As in sanitary matters the healthy young reprobates, revelling in the violation of all the laws of hygiene, are able to point to us middle-aged dyspeptics and ask, "Are you better off than we?" So we, who profess advanced ideas on the subject of dress, are unfortunately valueless in the way of example, and liable to be looked upon as plain old guys, whose reasonableness is not nearly so attractive as their preposterousness. Yet I think that could the prettiest young votary of style once realize how much more beautiful she would be if she dared to follow the laws of personal becomingness, she would stop to consider. For remember, blooming girls and graceful women, however intense may be your devotion to appearance, you have not, on the average, more than sixty years for its exercise. Let us then commend to your notice the few plain rules already established, but almost universally neglected, rules which may help you to economize this section of your immortality. In the first place, let us never forget that the object of a dress is to show to the best advantage, not the dress, but the wearer. Any selection of fabric or peculiarity of cut which brings out a grace or softens a defect, is a proper use of time. The devising of a high collar for a neck too long; of broadening lapels for a bust too narrow; the turning back of the hair to make the most of a low forehead; the partial concealing with hair of a forehead too boldly prominent; the making an insignificant face more jaunty in a saucy little hat; the shading, by a wider brim, of one that would else look brazen; the apparent lengthening of a dumpy figure by trimming the dress in perpendicular lines, and the similar shortening of one too tall, by running the lines across it; these are all legitimate objects of study in costume. So are flouncing and ruffling and fringing, when used with an eye to their actual effect on the person of the wearer.

On the other hand, all trimmings, however beautiful, which only serve to ornament the dress as it hangs in the closet, are valueless; and the hours spent upon them are so many hours dead loss from the precious sixty years. And the inconsistency we complain of is that at least seven-tenths of our labor and thought is spent for such non-results. Think of the yards, we may say miles, of bias folds laid tier over tier