6.  PLAIN AND NEAT.—­When a pretty woman goes by in plain and neat apparel, it is the presumption that she has fair expectations, and a husband that can show a balance in his favor.  For women are like books,—­too much gilding makes men suspicious, that the binding is the most important part.  The body is the shell of the soul, and the dress is the husk of the body; but the husk generally tells what the kernel is.  As a fashionably dressed young lady passed some gentlemen, one of them raised his hat, whereupon another, struck by the fine appearance of the lady, made some inquiries concerning her, and was answered thus:  “She makes a pretty ornament in her father’s house, but otherwise is of no use.”

7.  THE RICHEST DRESS.—­The richest dress is always worn on the soul.  The adornments that will not perish, and that all men most admire, shine from the heart through this life.  God has made it our highest, holiest duty, to dress the souls he has given us.  It is wicked to waste it in frivolity.  It is a beautiful, undying, precious thing.  If every young woman would think of her soul when she looks in the glass, would hear the cry of her naked mind when she dallies away her precious hours at her toilet, would listen to the sad moaning of her hollow heart, as it wails through her idle, useless life, something would be done for the elevation of womanhood.

8.  DRESSING UP.—­Compare a well-dressed body with a well-dressed mind.  Compare a taste for dress with a taste for knowledge, culture, virtue, and piety.  Dress up an ignorant young woman in the “height of fashion”; put on plumes and flowers, diamonds and gewgaws; paint her face, girt up her waist, and I ask you, if this side of a painted and feathered savage you can find anything more unpleasant to behold.  And yet such young women we meet by the hundred every day on the street and in all our public places.  It is awful to think of.

9.  DRESS AFFECTS OUR MANNERS.—­A man who is badly dressed, feels chilly, sweaty, and prickly.  He stammers, and does not always tell the truth.  He means to, perhaps, but he can’t.  He is half distracted about his pantaloons, which are much to short, and are constantly hitching up; or his frayed jacket and crumpled linen harrow his soul, and quite unman him.  He treads on the train of a lady’s dress, and says, “Thank you”, sits down on his hat, and wishes the “desert were his dwelling place.”

[Illustration]

* * * * *

BEAUTY.

  “She walks in beauty, like the night
  Of cloudless climes and starry skies: 
  And all that’s best of dark and bright
  Meet her in aspect and in her eyes;
  Thus mellowed to that tender light
  Which heaven to gaudy day denies.” 
  —­BYRON.