avoid an omnibus, where you have fat old men sitting nearly on the top of you, wet umbrellas streaming on to your boots, squalling babies, and disputes with the conductor continuing most of the way—­not to speak of the time you have to wait while so many roll by “full inside!” So on muddy days, when I take my walks, the amount of distress I have to undergo on account of the length of my gown is inconceivable.  I grow weary with holding it up, and have to stop in the middle of the street to change hands, and when you have an umbrella as well, and sometimes a small parcel besides, this performance is anything but a momentary matter.  You drop your gown, the umbrella changes hands, and the parcel generally falls in the mud!  While picking it up, four impatient, wet, mackintoshed pedestrians knock against you, and go off uttering imprecations on your head.  And when you are once again comfortably settled, your satisfaction does not last long.  Your left hand tires as soon as your right, and the scene has all to be acted over again.

There is a great deal of “savoir faire” in holding up.  Your gown must be high enough to quite clear the ground, but then comes the danger of holding it too high.  There has been no license yet granted for the exhibition of ankles in the great metropolis either by Mrs. Grundy or the County Councils; therefore “holding up” becomes a very delicate performance.

Though we do not dress only to please the men, I always prefer their criticisms on a costume to those of my own sex.  You can never tell if the latter speak the truth.  They may be jealous, and run it down from spite; they may want to gain something from you, and so call yours “a perfection of a gown, and suits you admirably, my dear!” disliking it exceedingly in their inmost hearts.

But a man never gives his approbation unless he really means what he says, and he is not difficult to please as a rule.  So long as the costume is neat and well-fitting, he does not care about anything else.  It is the tout ensemble he thinks of, not the thousand and one details that go to make up the whole.

I wonder why so many men dislike large hats!  It is a pity, for they are so very becoming to some faces, and give a picturesque effect altogether.  Perhaps this last is a reason for their disapproval.  They never like their womankind to attract attention.

The most unpardonable sin one woman can commit against another, is to copy her clothes and bring the style out as her own idea.  It is intensely irritating!  If she admits she has copied or asks your leave beforehand, it is a different matter.  You are even gratified then, for “imitation is the sincerest flattery.”  But to have your ideas stolen and brought out in such a way as to convey the impression that you are the imitator, to say the least, arouses murderous intentions in your heart!

There are times, too, when you receive a shock to your vanity; times when you are quite satisfied with your appearance, and find to your dismay that everyone is not of the same opinion.