The ‘Girl Graduate’ must of course have precedence, not merely for her sex but for her sanity:  her letter is extremely sensible.  She makes two points:  that high heels are a necessity for any lady who wishes to keep her dress clean from the Stygian mud of our streets, and that without a tight corset ‘the ordinary number of petticoats and etceteras’ cannot be properly or conveniently held up.  Now, it is quite true that as long as the lower garments are suspended from the hips a corset is an absolute necessity; the mistake lies in not suspending all apparel from the shoulders.  In the latter case a corset becomes useless, the body is left free and unconfined for respiration and motion, there is more health, and consequently more beauty.  Indeed all the most ungainly and uncomfortable articles of dress that fashion has ever in her folly prescribed, not the tight corset merely, but the farthingale, the vertugadin, the hoop, the crinoline, and that modern monstrosity the so-called ‘dress improver’ also, all of them have owed their origin to the same error, the error of not seeing that it is from the shoulders, and from the shoulders only, that all garments should be hung.

And as regards high heels, I quite admit that some additional height to the shoe or boot is necessary if long gowns are to be worn in the street; but what I object to is that the height should be given to the heel only, and not to the sole of the foot also.  The modern high-heeled boot is, in fact, merely the clog of the time of Henry vi., with the front prop left out, and its inevitable effect is to throw the body forward, to shorten the steps, and consequently to produce that want of grace which always follows want of freedom.

Why should clogs be despised?  Much art has been expended on clogs.  They have been made of lovely woods, and delicately inlaid with ivory, and with mother-of-pearl.  A clog might be a dream of beauty, and, if not too high or too heavy, most comfortable also.  But if there be any who do not like clogs, let them try some adaptation of the trouser of the Turkish lady, which is loose round the limb and tight at the ankle.

The ‘Girl Graduate,’ with a pathos to which I am not insensible, entreats me not to apotheosise ’that awful, befringed, beflounced, and bekilted divided skirt.’  Well, I will acknowledge that the fringes, the flounces, and the kilting do certainly defeat the whole object of the dress, which is that of ease and liberty; but I regard these things as mere wicked superfluities, tragic proofs that the divided skirt is ashamed of its own division.  The principle of the dress is good, and, though it is not by any means perfection, it is a step towards it.

Here I leave the ‘Girl Graduate,’ with much regret, for Mr. Wentworth Huyshe.  Mr. Huyshe makes the old criticism that Greek dress is unsuited to our climate, and, to me the somewhat new assertion, that the men’s dress of a hundred years ago was preferable to that of the second part of the seventeenth century, which I consider to have been the exquisite period of English costume.