"WHAT is this?" asked Henry Grove of his sister Mary, lifting, as he
spoke, a print from the centre-table.
"A fashion plate," was the quiet reply.
"A fashion plate? What in the name of wonder, are you doing with a
fashion plate?"
"To see what the fashions are."
"And what then?"
"To follow them, of course."
"Mary, is it possible you are so weak? I thought better of my
sister."
"Explain yourself, Mr. Censor," replied Mary with an arch look, and
a manner perfectly self-possessed.
"There is nothing I despise so much as a heartless woman of
fashion."
"Such an individual is certainly, not much to be admired, Henry. But
there is a vast difference you must recollect, between a lady who
regards the prevailing mode of dress and a _heartless_ woman, be she
attired in the latest style, or in the costume of the times of good
queen Bess. A fashionably dressed woman need not, of necessity, be
heartless."
"O no, of course not; nor did I mean to say so. But it is very
certain, to my mind, that any one who follows the fashions cannot be
very sound in the head. And where there is not much head, it seems
to me there is never a superabundance of heart."
"Quite a philosopher!"
"You needn't try to beat me off by ridicule, Mary. I am in earnest."
"What about?"
"In condemning this blind slavery to fashion."
"You follow the fashions."
"No, Mary, I do not."
"Your looks very much belie you, then."
"Mary!"
"Nonsense! Don't look so grave. What I say is true. You follow the
fashion as much as I do."
"I am sure I never examined a plate of fashions in my life."
"If you have not, your tailor has for you, many a time."
"I don't believe a word of it. I don't have my clothes cut in the
height of the fashion. They are made plain and comfortable. There is
nothing about them that is put on merely because it is fashionable."
"I beg your pardon, sir."
"It is a fact."
"Why do you have your lappels made to roll three button-holes
instead of two. There's father's old coat, made, I don't know when,
that roll but two."
"Because, I suppose, its now the fash--"
"Ah, exactly! Didn't I get you there nicely?"
"No, but Mary, that's the tailor's business, not mine."
"Of course,--you trust to him to make you clothes according to the
fashion, while I choose to see if the fashions are just such as
suits my stature, shape, and complexion, that I may adopt them
fully, or deviate from them in a just and rational manner. So there
is this difference between us; you follow the fashions blindly, and
I with judgment and discrimination!"
"Indeed, Mary, you are too bad."
"Do I speak anything but the truth?"
"I should be very sorry, indeed, if your deductions were true in
regard to my following the fashions so blindly, if indeed at all."
"But don't you follow them?"
"I never think about them."
"If you don't, somehow or other, you manage to be always about even
with the prevailing modes. I don't see any difference between your
dress and that of other young men."
"I don't care a fig for the fashions, Mary!" rejoined Henry,
speaking with some warmth.
"So you say."
"And so I mean."
"Then why do you wear fashionable clothes?"
"I don't wear fashionable clothes--that is--I----"
"You have figured silk or cut velvet buttons, on your coat, I
believe. Let me see? Yes. Now, lasting buttons are more durable, and
I remember very well when you wore them. But they are out of
fashion! And here is your collar turned down over your black satin
stock, (where, by the by, have all the white cravats gone, that were
a few years ago so fashionable?) as smooth as a puritan's! Don't you
remember how much trouble you used to have, sometimes, to get your
collar to stand up just so? Ah, brother, you are an incorrigible
follower of the fashions!"
"But, Mary, it is a great deal less trouble to turn the collar over
the stock."
"I know it is, now that it is fashionable to do so."
"It is, though, in fact."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"But when it was fashionable to have the collar standing, you were
very willing to take the trouble."
"You would not have me affect singularity, sister?"
"Me? No, indeed! I would have you continue to follow the fashions as
you are now doing. I would have you dress like other people. And
there is one other thing that I would like to see in you."
"What is that."
"I would like to see you willing to allow me the same privilege."
"You have managed your case so ingeniously, Mary," her brother now
said, "as to have beaten me in argument, though I am very sure that
I am right, and you in error, in regard to the general principle. I
hold it to be morally wrong to follow the fashions. They are
unreasonable and arbitrary in their requirements, and it is a
species of miserable folly, to be led about by them. I have
conversed a good deal with old aunt Abigail on the subject, and she
perfectly agrees with me. Her opinions, you can not, of course,
treat with indifference?"
"No, not my aunt's. But for all that, I do not think that either she
or uncle Absalom is perfectly orthodox on all matters."
"I think that they can both prove to you beyond a doubt that it is a
most egregious folly to be ever changing with the fashions."
"And I think that I can prove to them that they are not at all
uninfluenced by the fickle goddess."
"Do so, and I will give up the point. Do so and I will avow myself
an advocate of fashion."
"As you are now in fact. But I accept your challenge, even though
the odds of age and numbers are against me. I am very much mistaken,
indeed, if I cannot maintain my side of the argument, at least to my
own satisfaction."
"You may do that probably; but certainly not to ours."
"We will see," was the laughing reply.
It was a few evenings after, that Henry Grove and his sister called
in to see uncle Absalom and aunt Abigail, who were of the old
school, and rather ultra-puritanical in their habits and notions.
Mary could not but feel, as she came into their presence, that it
would be rowing against wind and tide to maintain her point with
them--confirmed as they were in their own views of things, and with
the respect due to age to give weight to their opinions.
Nevertheless, she determined resolutely to maintain her own side of
the question, and to use all the weapons, offensive and defensive,
that came to her hand. She was a light-hearted girl, with a high
flow of spirits, and a quick and discriminating mind. All these were
in her favor. The contest was not long delayed, for Henry, feeling
that he had powerful auxiliaries on his side, was eager to see his
own positions triumph, as he was sure that they must. The welcome
words that greeted their entrance had not long been said, before he
asked, turning to his aunt,--
"What do you think I found on Mary's table, the other day, Aunt
Abigail?"
"I don't know, Henry. What was it?"
"You will be surprised to hear,--a fashion plate! And that is not
all. By her own confession, she was studying it in order to conform
to the prevailing style of dress. Hadn't you a better opinion of
her?"
"I certainly had," was aunt Abigail's half smiling, half grave
reply.
"Why, what harm is there in following the fashions, aunt?" Mary
asked.
"A great deal, my dear. It is following after the vanities of this
life. The apostle tells us not to be conformed to this world."
"I know he does; but what has that to do with the fashions? He
doesn't say that you shall not wear fashionable garments; at least I
never saw the passage."
"But that is clearly what he means, Mary."
"I doubt it. Let us hear what he further says; perhaps that will
guide us to a truer meaning?"
"He says: 'But be ye transformed by the renewing of your minds.'
That elucidates and gives force to what goes before."
"So I think, clearly upsetting your position. The apostle evidently
has reference to a deeper work than mere _external_ non-conformity
in regard to the cut of the coat, or the fashion of the dress. Be ye
not conformed to this world in its selfish, principles and
maxims--be ye not as the world, lovers of self more than lovers of
God--but be ye transformed by the renewing of your minds. That is
the way I understand him."
"Then you understand him wrong, Mary," uncle Absalom spoke up. "If
he had meant that, he would have said it in plain terms."
"And so he has, it seems to me. But I am not disposed to excuse my
adherence to fashion upon any passage that allows of two
interpretations. I argue for it upon rational grounds."
"Fashion and rationality! The idea is absurd, Mary!" said uncle
Absalom, with warmth. "They are antipodes."
"Not by any means, uncle, and I think I can make it plain to you."
Uncle Absalom shook his head, and aunt Abigail fidgeted in her
chair.
"You remember the celebrated John Wesley--the founder of that once
unfashionable people, the Methodists?" Mary asked.
"O, yes."
"What would you think if I proved to you that he was an advocate for
fashion upon rational principles?"
"You can't do it."
"I can. On one occasion, it is related of him, that he called upon a
tailor to make him a coat. 'How will you have it made?' asked the
tailor. 'O, make it like other people's,' was the reply. 'Will you
have the sleeves in the new fashion?' 'I don't know, what is it?'
'They have been made very tight, you know, for some time,' the
tailor said, 'but the newest fashion is loose sleeves.' 'Loose
sleeves, ah? Well, they will be a great deal more comfortable than
these. Make mine loose.' What do you think of that, uncle? Do you
see no rationality there?"
"Yes, but Mary," replied aunt Abigail, "fashion and comfort hardly
ever go together."
"There you are mistaken, aunt. Most fashionable dress-makers aim at
producing garments comfortable to the wearers; and those fashions
which are most comfortable, are most readily adopted by the largest
numbers."
"You certainly do not pretend to say, Mary," Henry interposed, "that
all changes in fashions are improvements in comfort?"
"O no, certainly not. Many, nay, most of the changes are unimportant
in that respect."
"And are the inventions and whims of fashion makers," added aunt
Abigail with warmth.
"No doubt of it," Mary readily admitted.
"And you are such a weak, foolish girl, as to adopt, eagerly, every
trifling variation in fashion?" continued aunt Abigail.
"No, not eagerly, aunt."
"But at all?"
"I adopt a great many, certainly, for no other reason than because
they are fashionable."
"For shame, Mary, to make such an admission! I really thought better
of you."
"But don't you follow the fashions, aunt?"
"Why Mary," exclaimed both uncle Absalom and her brother, at once.
"Me follow the fashions, Mary?" broke in aunt Abigail, as soon as
she could recover her breath, for the question struck her almost
speechless. "Me follow the fashions? Why, what can the girl mean?"
"I asked the question," said Mary. "And if you can't answer it, I
can."
"And how will you answer it, pray?"
"In the affirmative, of course."
"You are trifling, now, Mary," said uncle Absalom, gravely.
"Indeed I am not, uncle. I can prove to her satisfaction and yours,
too, that aunt Abigail is almost as much a follower of the fashions
as I am."
"For shame, child!"
"I can though, uncle; so prepare yourself to be convinced. Did you
never see aunt wear a different shaped cap from the one she now has
on?"
"O yes, I suppose so. I don't take much notice of such things. But I
believe she has changed the pattern of her cap a good many times."
"And what if I have, pray?" asked aunt Abigail, fidgeting uneasily.
"O, nothing, only that in doing so, you were following some new
fashion," replied Mary.
"It is no such thing!" said aunt Abigail.
"I can prove it."
"You can't."
"Yes I can, and I will. Don't you remember when the high crowns were
worn?"
"Of course I do."
"And you wore them, of course."
"Well, suppose I did?"
"And then came the close, low-crowned cap. I remember the very time
you adopted that fashion, and thought it so much more becoming than
the great tower of lace on the back part of the head."
"And so it was."
"But why didn't you think so before," asked Mary, looking archly
into the face of her aunt.
"Why--because-because--"
"O, I can tell you, so you needn't search all over the world for a
reason. It was because the high crowns were fashionable. Come out
plain and aboveboard and say so."
"Indeed, I won't say any such thing."
"Then what was the reason?"
"Every body wore them, and their unsightly appearance had not been
made apparent by contrast."
"Exactly! They were fashionable. But when a new fashion laughed them
out of countenance, you cast them aside, as I do an old fashion for
a new one. Then came the quilled border all around. Do you remember
that change? and how, in a little while after, the plain piece of
lace over your forehead disappeared? Why was that, aunt Abigail? Was
there no regard for fashion there? And now, at this very time your
cap is one that exhibits the latest and neatest style for old
ladies' caps. I could go on and prove to your satisfaction, or at
least to my own, that you have followed the fashion almost as
steadily as I have. But I have sufficiently made out my case. Don't
you think so, Henry?"
Thus appealed to, her brother, who had been surprised at the turn
the conversation had taken, not expecting to see Mary carry the war
home so directly as she had done, hardly knew how to reply. He,
however, gave a reluctant
"Yes."
"But there is some sense in your aunt's adoption of fashion," said
uncle Absalom.
"Though not much, it would seem in yours, if you estimate fashion by
use," retorted Mary.
"What does the girl mean?" asked aunt Abigail in surprise.
"Of what use, uncle, are those two buttons on the back of your
coat?"
"I am sure I don't know."
"Then why do you wear them if you don't know their use, unless it be
that you wish to be in the fashion? Then there are two more at the
bottom of the skirt, half hid, half seen, as if they were ashamed to
be found so much out of their place. Then, can you enlighten me as
to the use of these two pieces of cloth here, called, I believe,
flaps?"
"To give strength to that part of the coat, I presume."
"And yet it is only a year or two since it was the fashion to have
no flaps at all. I do not remember ever to have seen a coat torn
there, do you? It is no use, uncle--you might as well be out of the
world as out of the fashion. And old people feel this as well as
young. They have their fashions, and we have ours, and they are as
much the votaries of their peculiar modes as we are of our. The only
difference is, that, as our states of mind change more rapidly,
there is a corresponding and more rapid change in our fashions. You
change as well as we do--but slower."
"How could you talk to uncle Absalom and aunt Abigail as you did?"
said Henry Grove to his sister, as they walked slowly home together.
"Didn't I make out my point? Didn't I prove that they too were
votaries of the fickle goddess?"
"I think you did, in a measure."
"And in a good measure too. So give up your point, as you promised,
and confess yourself an advocate of fashion."
"I don't see clearly how I can do that, notwithstanding all that has
passed to-night; for I do not rationally perceive the use of all
these changes in dress."
"I am not certain that I can enlighten you fully on the subject; but
think that I may, perhaps in a degree, if you will allow my views
their proper weight in your mind."
"I will try to do so; but shall not promise to be convinced."
"No matter. Convinced or not convinced you will still be carried
along by the current. As to the primary cause of the change in
fashion it strikes me that it is one of the visible effects of that
process of change ever going on in the human mind. The fashion of
dress that prevails may not be the true exponent of the internal and
invisible states, because they must necessarily be modified in
various ways by the interests and false tastes of such individuals
as promulgate them. Still, this does not affect the primary cause."
"Granting your position to be true, Mary, which I am not fully
prepared to admit or deny--why should we blindly follow these
fashions?"
"We need not _blindly_. For my part, I am sure that I do not blindly
follow them."
"You do when you adopt a fashion without thinking it becoming."
"That I never do."
"But, surely, you do not pretend to say that all fashions are
becoming?"
"All that prevail to any extent, appear so, during the time of their
prevalence, unless they involve an improper exposure of the person,
or are injurious to health."
"That is singular."
"But is it not true."
"Perhaps it is. But how do you account for it?"
"On the principle that there are both external and internal causes
at work, modifying the mind's perceptions of the appropriate and
beautiful."
"Mostly external, I should think, such as a desire to be in the
fashion, etc."
"That feeling has its influence no doubt, and operates very
strongly."
"But is it a right feeling?"
"It is right or wrong, according to the end in view. If fashion be
followed from no higher view than a selfish love of being admired,
then the feeling is wrong."
"Can we follow fashion with any other end?"
"Answer the question yourself. You follow the fashions."
"I think but little about them, Mary."
"And yet you dress very much like people who do."
"That may be so. The reason is, I do not wish to be singular."
"Why?"
"For this reason. A man who affects any singularity of dress or
manners, loses his true influence in society. People begin to think
that there must be within, a mind not truly balanced and therefore
do not suffer his opinions, no matter how sound, to have their true
weight."
"A very strong and just argument why we should adopt prevailing
usages and fashions, if not immoral or injurious to health. They are
the badges by which we are known--diplomas which give to our
opinions their legitimate value. I could present this subject in
many other points of view. But it would be of little avail, if you
are determined not to be convinced."
"I am not so determined, Mary. What you have already said, greatly
modifies my view of the subject. I shall, at least, not ridicule
your adherence to fashion, if I do not give much thought to it
myself."
"I will present one more view. A right attention to dress looks to
the development of that which is appropriate and beautiful to the
eye. This is a universal benefit. For no one can look upon a truly
beautiful object in nature or art without having his mind
correspondingly elevated and impressed with beautiful images, and
these do not pass away like spectrums, but remain ever after more or
less distinct, bearing with them an elevating influence upon the
whole character. Changes in fashion, so far as they present new
and beautiful forms, new arrangements, and new and appropriate
combination of colors, are the dictates of a true taste, and so
far do they tend to benefit society."
"But fashion is not always so directed by true taste."
"A just remark. And likewise a reason why all who have a right
appreciation of the truly beautiful should give some attention to
the prevailing fashion in dress, and endeavor to correct errors, and
develop the true and the beautiful here as in other branches of
art."