COMING-OUT AND DRESS.
I always regard the expression ‘coming-out’ as rather a ridiculous one,
when used by the ordinary upper middle-class household; yet, as it has
become a recognised part of our vocabulary, I suppose we must all adopt
it when we talk of that enchanting period of a girl’s life which occurs
when she is about eighteen, and is in some measure emancipated from the
control and ever-watchful care which have been her portion from the day
she was born until the joyful moment arrives when the books may be
closed and the schoolroom-door shut, and she takes her place among her
elders as a right, and not on sufferance any more.
Here I should like to pause for a moment to impress upon all mothers
who may read my book that a girl should remain absolutely in the
schoolroom until she reaches her eighteenth birthday; the longer she can
be kept from the turmoil of life, from the shams and wearinesses of
ordinary society, and from any temptations to shirk her education, the
better. She will not be pleased with her mother at the time; she will
think regretfully and, may be, angrily of those of her less guarded,
more ‘fortunate’ (?) friends, who are ‘all over the place’ at seventeen,
who never read an instructive book or think of anything save dress,
admirers, and what dissipation is in store for them next; but when she
looks back at her girlhood from the altitude of that calm, sheltered
middle-age I wish for all girls for whom I care, she will see what she
has to thank her mother for, and all the disagreeable feelings she had
then towards her will be atoned for a thousandfold in the flood of
grateful affection which will fill her heart, and in the love which she
will entertain for one who trained her so carefully, and who cared for
no present lack of affection, because she knew quite well she would
infallibly and at no very late date reap her reward.
The years from sixteen to eighteen are undoubtedly the years during
which a girl learns most, and in a properly guarded household she would
then comprehend more fully than at any other time how necessary it is to
use every moment for the best. She would form habits of study,
regularity, and appreciation of what is best in art and literature which
she would never lose, and which would only develop as years went on; and
she would, furthermore, lay in a stock of health, on which she could
draw at will when the real stress of living begins, and she finds
herself in her turn with a heavy burden of real work on her shoulders,
and has a house to manage, a husband to please, and children to bring
forth and care for unceasingly.
And this latter is the strongest argument I can use against girls being
‘brought out’ too young; if they are they may marry. I knew one parent
criminal enough to allow a child of sixteen to take upon herself this
burden; and should they marry and have children they entail on
themselves and on unborn generations misery compared with which a life
spent always in the schoolroom would be a life of Elysian and purest
delight.
The first thing to consider with our girls is their health: let that
stand before every single thing; dress them as little mites carefully
and warmly; as young girls insist on warm clothing and perpetually dry
feet and skirts; never allow a game of tennis on a damp lawn to pass by
without seeing that no damage is done thereby; and then, furthermore,
insist on early bed until the lesson-time is over; allow no dances of
any kind, forbid entirely the children’s parties, which are at the root
of half the epidemics, the affectations and the bad manners of the
present day; while you take care that pleasant companionship, treats in
the shape of afternoon concerts or plays, or tennis-parties with
children their own age, these give the necessary relaxation, and you can
face the ‘coming-out’ gaieties with a light heart, knowing quite well
that your daughter has the necessary physique to stand the strain, and
that she has arrived at a common-sense age, and will be able to know
when she has had enough pleasure, the while she will care herself for
something beside balls and parties, albeit she will in no measure
despise a proper allowance of both.
I am no Puritan; I do not object to dancing or theatres, or any other
amusement, but I do plead for moderation in all things, and that a girl
may have time for something beside mere play. I ask it not only because
their mental health must suffer, but because their physique cannot
possibly stand that present strain and yet remain intact ready to bear
the yet greater strain to which most women are exposed during their
married life. I know only too well what an uncontrolled girlhood and
unending gaieties did for me, and I am only again writing out of my own
experience in the hope that I may save some few girls from the misery in
store for them if they begin their fashionable life before they are
eighteen and if, when they begin it, they have no moderation about it,
and go from ball to ball, party to party, until their faces become thin
and wretched, their bloom goes, their tempers and noses sharpen
together, and they are unstrung and miserable just at the time when life
demands most from them, and they ought to be as well and happy as they
are miserable, nervous, and broken in spirits and in health.
I actually have known one mother introduce her daughter at seventeen
because the next daughter was far prettier, and she wished to give No.
1 ‘a chance’ before No. 2 appeared on the scene. Can anything be more
ignoble than that? And it is to save both mothers and daughters from a
similar fate to that which will overtake this couple that I am pleading
for the girls; that, in fact, they may be saved from themselves by the
prompt action of those who ought to be the first to shield their
children from a too early contact with the world.
I should myself keep a girl to regular hours until she was eighteen, but
even after that, as I have shown in my last chapter, she should have
employment and occupation. Until she was eighteen she should never be in
bed later than 9.30, and she should always be down at 8.30, while she
ought never to be allowed to go to any large dance before then. Small
ones, ending at 11, should be very sparsely attended, and those not at
all until she was past seventeen. When the auspicious date of her
eighteenth birthday draws near, a great effort should be made to
celebrate it properly. On that date a girl comes into her kingdom,
accepts at your hands the sceptre of self-rule and the crown of an
educated and well-guarded girlhood, and certainly some special notice
should be taken of such an occasion.
Not, please, by her being presented at Court; the present-day rush of
the wives of wine merchants, successful upholsterers, and tradesmen of
all kinds has made what was once a stately and beautiful ceremony a
mockery indeed. Of course girls whose parents are about the Court, who
have long pedigrees and ancient titles, are bound to be introduced to
the Head of Society and to take their places round the throne; but just
think for a moment what it means to the ordinary middle-class family,
the frightful expense, the worry and strain of the presentation, the
fatigue and showing off at the ‘Drawing Room teas’ afterwards, and,
finally, the dead and unpleasant certainty that they will never be asked
to one Court function, that they are no nearer being the bosom friend of
the princesses than they were before, and that their social status has
not been improved in the least; indeed, it has gone down, for old
friends sneer at the foolishness and scoff when they see the name in the
paper, remembering with redoubled force the counters of the wine
merchant and shopkeeper, which would have been entirely forgotten had
not the ‘fierce light which beats upon the throne’ been reflected on
those who approach it and shown up the flaws in the pedigree which were
on the way to oblivion, but which give ample scope for scoffing from the
very lips which are drinking the tea at the ‘reception’ after the
Drawing Room, where all are wondering what the dresses cost, and whether
Jones or Smith, as the case may be, will last over the season, or
whether he will marry off his daughters before the crash comes and all
go under together!
Remember, I am not scoffing at trade; it would ill become me to do so;
but I am simply asking my readers to be sensible and to be frankly and
absolutely themselves. Personally I would far rather pin my rights to
being a lady on the fact that art and literature have been my sponsors
than on being the great-great-granddaughter of a king’s mistress or a
ruffianly robber of other men’s goods; but that has nothing to do with
the subject. A waiter on courts should have business at those courts;
therefore I say that those who cannot consider themselves owing the
Queen a call, and the courtesy of showing her their girls as they grow
up to take their places, either as friends or servants, have any right
to go there, and that they had much better stay at home and not make
themselves ridiculous by an attempt to be and seem what they can never
really be.
Let us suppose that our eloquence has prevailed, and that the girl has
reached her eighteenth birthday, and there is no talk of her being
presented, or any such nonsense; but still something must be done to
celebrate the auspicious event. If the birthday is in autumn or winter,
or very early spring, there is no reason why a dance should not be
indulged in, more especially if it can be afforded, or if there is room
for such dissipation. These two things are, of course, to be considered
before anything else.
A ball can cost any sum anyone likes to spend on it; all depends on the
purse and the ideas. If we engage a good hall and band, go in for a
regular and first-rate supper, any amount of flowers, and so on, I
tremble to think what the bills may come to; but all can be ascertained
by writing to the different places where such things are to be found.
Gunter will give an estimate per head for the supper; the Prince’s Hall
secretary will tell you the charges per night; Mrs. Green, of Crawford
Street, W., will tell you what her fee for decorating the room would be;
and Mitchell, of Bond Street, would provide the band. But people who can
afford to arrange matters _en grand seigneur_ are not likely to come to
me for advice; if they did, I should only hand them over to the
above-named authorities. Still, if these lucky folk should come across
my book, this will tell them what to do. But ordinary folk can give a
very enjoyable dance for a little over 50_l._ to about 125 people,
making the hours from eight to twelve, and having a stand-up supper at
about 5_s._ a head, ending up with soup just before the guests start for
home; and I fancy that, if one had a sufficiently large house, and could
manage the supper oneself, it could be done for very much less,
particularly if one has a stand-up supper, which is really all that can
be required when people have dined late, and only want something to
carry them over the later hours and the extra amount of fatigue.
To make such a dance a success, the floor must be perfect, a band of
from three to five performers engaged, and people must be thoroughly
well introduced to each other, and, if possible, no girl must be seen
sitting out without a valiant struggle on the part of the hostess to
prevent such a sad occurrence by finding her a partner. I cannot
countenance or believe in dances, or, in fact, any social gathering,
where there are no introductions; it is simply an excuse for laziness on
the part of the hostess, which all too often condemns her guests to a
great deal of misery and dulness. Of course the theory is a perfectly
correct one; the practice, however, cannot, in my opinion, be too
heartily condemned. There will always be _débutantes_ and shy girls who
know very few people, and these cannot possibly dance unless we see they
know men to dance with.
Is there any misery like the misery of a girl who is dying to dance, who
loves the exercise for its own sake, and who has to sit out on a bench,
her feet impatiently tapping the floor, and her little heart ready to
break with disappointment, while she sees married women, who ought to
know better, and who ought never to dance at all as long as a girl is
sitting out, prancing all about the place and caring nothing for the
poor young things whose day it is? As long as they enjoy themselves,
that is quite enough for them.
The watchful hostess will have none of these engaging little ways at her
dances: the girls are provided for first, the matrons after; and as this
would be impossible were introductions done away with, I would impress
upon my readers to cling to this old fashion, and to see that the girls
enjoy themselves, no matter who else do not. Except as chaperons married
women are out of place in the ballroom, and should not be encouraged to
come there; if they do their duty by their homes, their husbands, and
their children, they could have neither time nor inclination for such a
pursuit.
When my own daughter ‘came out’ the other day, we had about 125 people
to a dance in Watford, and it cost us just under 50_l._ Because our
house was too small to have any festivity in, we had to engage rooms,
which cost about 5_l._; the supper cost about 25_l._, at 5_s._ a head,
including soup, aërated waters, and waiters, and a certain amount of
decoration for the approach, anterooms, &c. We had plenty of moss,
plants, &c., which our own gardener arranged. The local band of three
performers cost 3_l._ 3_s._, and the rest went for wine, programmes, and
odds and ends generally. The dance was certainly most successful, and
went off very well, and was quite as much as we could afford. Naturally
I should have preferred much grander doings--a first-rate supper, the
‘Blue Hungarian’ band, or any other excellent one; but it would have
been foolish to refuse to entertain at all because we could not manage
these gorgeous details--details that were as much above our means as
they would have been quite unnecessary in Watford.
But the dance was successful, because the girls were pretty and the men
pleasant, because old friends came down and rallied round us, and
because we all saw the girls did not sit down once, that there was no
flagging, and that all who could be introduced were made to know each
other. I dare say there were plenty of people who wondered they did not
have a gorgeous supper, but I do not care if they did, and I certainly
am never going to precipitate myself head first into the Bankruptcy
Court because someone else gives what, no doubt, they can well afford
to do, but which I could not, and which, were I to do, I should soon
come utterly to an end.
I mention all these personal details to show that what we did can be
done by other people, certainly by people who have a big house and
plenty of servants, at a moderate cost, and I hope I shall not have
become a ‘mock of many’ because of all I have said; but as I always
think personal experience frankly given is worth any amount of polite
theory, I give my experience here as elsewhere, hoping that it may be of
use to many beside myself.
If the damsel is born in the summer, I strongly advise a tennis-or
garden-party, though, alas! in this climate we are so dependent upon the
weather that I mention this with a certain amount of diffidence; but
given one of the lovely June days Nature sometimes kindly dowers us
with, and can anything on earth be pleasanter than one of these
al-fresco gatherings may be if properly managed?
The garden is looking its best, and, if the seats are judiciously
arranged and a proper amount of amusement legislated for, the hostess
can greet her friends with a light heart; she can be quite sure of a
successful party without too much trouble or expense on her part.
The refreshments should be either in a tent on the lawn or else in any
room that may open out into the garden. Should there be no such room, I
strongly advise the tent to be procured (one can always be borrowed at a
most reasonable expense), as, if the refreshments are not easily
accessible, the party becomes scattered: the timid do not like to
separate themselves and go in search of sustenance, while the greedy can
seclude themselves and snatch an undue share of the good things prepared
for the entire company.
Given the tent, or the room, and we can proceed to place very long and
narrow tables there, which we should decorate with as many flowers as we
possibly can get together, and should we have very many Londoners coming
to our gathering we should put a host of the little baskets Whiteley
sells for about 4½_d._ a set under the tables, and fill them at parting
with what we garnished the tables with. Roses and lilies and greenery
are not to be despised in London, and our friends will come down to us
cheerfully another year if they carry away a sweetly-scented souvenir
of our last gathering. People don’t mind carrying flowers, and we can
always spare those we have used for garnishing the table.
Among the flowers we should put large imari bowls of strawberries and
cream ready for ladling out on small dishes; the strawberries should be
denuded of their hulls, and the whipped cream, which can be thickened
with white of egg and made palatable with sugar, should be piled high on
the fruit, which, of course, should be unbroken. If a refrigerator is
handy, the prepared fruit should be kept there until the last moment,
and only produced when the guests have begun to assemble, the places for
the bowls being kept by plates to prevent the symmetry of the table
being spoiled by a careless or hurried maid-servant.
I strongly advise all the cakes being bought from Buszard, who will,
moreover, tell you honestly the amount of the different kinds you should
have for the number you expect; and, as a rule, you should prepare for a
few more folks than you have down on your list. If a very fine day
people often bring friends with them. I personally like them to do this,
and if you yourself happen to know anyone who possesses little girls,
and who is coming herself, I advise you to ask her to bring the
children. Well-brought-up children are delightful additions to a
garden-party; they look like bright butterflies flitting about, and
should therefore be encouraged to come, not by a written invitation,
which would make them unduly prominent and of consequence in their own
eyes, but by a casual mention, which cannot inflate them, and yet will
show they have been thought about by us. Beside the fruit and cakes, a
little finely cut and rolled brown bread and butter should be prepared,
but only a little; few people eat it; as a rule it spoils their gloves,
and they do not want it, and it is wasted if left, and if the weather is
really summerlike and hot, ices should be provided, and also iced
lemonade, gingerbeer, and claret-cup. No other wine is requisite. And as
wine is frightfully dear, and should never be given unless really good,
I advise it being omitted altogether, unless expense is no object. When
the garden-party can be from 6 to 9.30 the garden could be illuminated
with coloured lamps, and a cold supper succeed the tea. This, of
course, is the ideal garden-party, but one which is out of the reach of
most people who have a great many friends, and want to see them without
an undue and enormous expense.
The tennis-courts, of course, should be swept and garnished and newly
marked out for the occasion, and several enthusiasts over this (to me,
idiotic) game should be told off to see that all who want to play can do
so. If this is not done, we shall be vexed by seeing this game, which is
so dear to so many, quite left alone; and I defy any hostess to attend
to her guests and keep the tennis-balls rolling at the same time. She
must engage the help of her younger guests, and to them must be left the
everlasting trouble of making up the sets, which seem to me to have only
just begun as they are finished. Now, in the dear departed days of
croquet, a hostess had nothing to do but make up the sets of eight and
set them going. She saw nothing more of her guests, a well-played set of
eight lasting quite as long as the garden-party itself could be expected
to do.
Anyhow, there must be something beside tennis to amuse our guests, and I
think a band is almost a necessity, particularly if one is blessed with
a decent local band; then the expense will not be ruinous. One can get
an excellent string band from town for about 20_l._ I particularly like
Mrs. Hunt’s ladies’ orchestra (_Les Merveilleuses_), all particulars of
which can be had from the secretary, or from Chappell & Co., New Bond
Street; but sometimes it is as well to encourage local talent if one can
do so without fatal effects, when for 5_l._ you can have a good deal of
music, always a cheerful matter, and can sometimes have very good music
too. But a local band should always be put a good way off, distance, as
a rule, lending an immense amount of enchantment to their productions.
I think also that some of the charming open-air scenes from Shakespeare
can be given with great effect. I also am very fond of Mendelssohn’s
open-air glees; and some recitations are often amusing. But should these
latter be indulged in, let me beg that the hostess knows beforehand
something about them, else will her fate be what mine was once, when an
enthusiast began a long, long, long poem. I don’t know to this day what
it was, whether it was meant to be pathetic or comic or not, but I do
know my agonies were awful, and that I was rapidly going mad, when an
opportune shower put a stop to the eloquence, which had gone on
unceasingly through the passing of several express trains, all of which
made a hideous noise, and any one of which would have been sufficient to
daunt any other individual. Short, amusing--really amusing--recitations
are always a success, and I should taboo anything tragic or sentimental,
or anything which lasted over ten minutes at the outside.
Never, however, be persuaded to give a garden-party trusting to tennis
alone. There can be nothing more dreary than such an entertainment; it
is like an at-home, where nothing but talk is provided. I would never
heap on amusements out of doors or have music without stopping in doors,
but I should always provide it in such a way that it serves as a
pleasant reason for the gathering. An in-door at-home with music can
never be a success if the seats are put in rows, and people are forced
to sit stiffly close together; an outdoor one can never pass off well
unless we prepare amusements, and see that our guests are really
entertained and yet not overburdened with our attentions.
I think a whole chapter might be written on the art of being a hostess;
and yet, perhaps, a few words may suffice. I believe a hostess, like a
poet, is born, not made. Still, a few hints may not be out of place, for
I think sometimes parties are unsuccessful because, though possessed of
the best intentions, the hostess may lack the knowledge that alone can
ensure a successful entertainment.
In the first place, without emulating two friends of mine, one of whom
took the youngest unmarried girl in the room down to dinner, while the
other, out of pure kindness, let his wife walk in first and then
followed himself, and in consequence was hugely laughed at. I do think
that in ordinary society a great deal of ridiculous fuss is made about
precedence. What can it matter to the wife of some man knighted but the
other day whether she or the wife of the parson goes into or out of the
room first? If it does, she must be so stupid that I should not care to
see her in my house; while to me it does matter immensely whether I have
someone to take me in who knows what is going on in the world and reads
his newspaper and sees every play that comes out. Give me a man like
that, and I don’t in the least care what his father was, neither should
I care one bit whether Jones and Mrs. Smith, and Mr. Smith and Mrs.
Brown, walked in or out of the room before me; they may all go, if they
like, in a string. So long as I have a pleasant companion and a pretty
table to look at, and a well-cooked dinner, I don’t care in the least
how I reach the dining-room.
See that the people who are likely to get on have an opportunity of
knowing each other; watch that no one is sitting glum and disconsolate
in a corner; remember, if you can, who is anxious to be introduced to or
shown any celebrities in the world of art and letters who may happen to
be present; and, above all, consider everyone’s pleasure before you
think of your own; and in a large gathering never sit down until you are
actually driven to do so through fatigue, and you may be quite sure that
the party will be a success. And send out your invitations, remembering
that the pleasantest people are not always those who can afford to ask
you again, and that your object in entertaining is above all to give
pleasure, to see clever and entertaining, people in your house, and not
to ensure a return as soon as may be for what you are doing. I do not
care if people are the highest in the land if they are dull; I would far
rather meet and know people who are clever and interesting than the most
exalted member of the peerage I could number among my acquaintances if
she were stupid and uninteresting, and had nothing to recommend her but
her coronet and her connection with what Jeames de la Pluche calls the
‘hupper suckles.’
I think that I have now given some idea how to ensure success at the two
kinds of parties which might be used as means of introducing a daughter
to the world at large; but, of course, there are a great many other
gatherings which may be indulged in, and, above all, let us learn always
to be ready to give a welcome to any of the children’s friends. Should
we discover that they are not nice we can easily speak about it, and
tell our reasons for not receiving them; but well-brought-up young
people will only make nice friends, and we must invariably be ready to
give them a cheerful welcome. We can always be glad to see them after
dinner, or to afternoon tea. This cannot ruin us, and when possible we
should let them stay in the house and encourage them all we can. At the
same time the rules of the house must be kept; the hours for meals and
the general habits of the elders respected; and we must not be expected
to help in the entertaining--that must be left entirely to the younger
members of the household, whose friends they are.
Perhaps one of the greatest problems, after we have settled on our
manner of entertainment, is to determine how the girls shall dress and
in what manner they shall manage their dress allowance. This should be
made to them and paid punctually from their eighteenth birthday, but it
should never be made without starting a girl with a good and sufficient
wardrobe, with a miniature trousseau in fact; if this is not done,
unless, of course, the allowance is a very handsome one, the girl will
get hopelessly into debt, and will never be free from that millstone all
her life.
Dress is, unfortunately, so frightfully expensive nowadays that the
problem of how to dress at all, always a serious one, has assumed
gigantic proportions of late years. We went out immensely in our youth,
and had 50_l._ a year allowed us, which we just scraped through on,
although I remember how anxiously I watched the sleeves of one special
grenadine dress, which I could not have afforded to replace anyhow, and
which would wear out in the most agonising way, and which was one mass
of darns before I could get another, and I have never forgotten the
anxiety it gave me, to say nothing of under-garments, which really
seemed to vanish perceptibly, bit by bit, after each visit to the
laundress; but nowadays girls cannot go out very much and appear well
dressed on double that sum. Even with 100_l._ a year there would have to
be cutting and contriving, and a good sewing-maid would be an imperative
necessity should there be really very many balls every year and
afternoon and evening dresses to be seen after besides.
Of course, if not more than 50_l._ can be spared to each girl, the
attendance at balls must be limited, and a great deal of sewing must be
done by the damsel herself. But I never recommend anyone to go to a
cheap or common dressmaker; if she does, her garments will never look
nice, and she will spend three times as much as she need on renovations
and alterations, while she will run every imaginable risk of having her
stuff spoiled and the dress made so badly that she cannot wear it.
Supposing the girl is to begin with her allowance of 50_l._, her
trousseau should consist of a dozen of each under-garments necessary;
she should have six pairs of silk, six of fine cashmere, and six of
warmer cashmere hose; she should have four white skirts, a silk
underskirt, and a quilted poplin skirt; she should have two morning
dresses, one a good tailor-made one with a jacket to match, the other
cashmere; she should have two best dresses, one for every evening, one
for dances, and two for balls; and she should have a sealskin coat, a
waterproof, and a jacket, and about three hats; she should have four
pairs of boots and four pairs of shoes; and she should remember that the
longer these are kept in stock before they are worn the better, and one
pair of shoes should never be taken into regular wear without another
being purchased to take its place. Cheap shoes and boots should never be
bought under any pretext whatever; they wear out at once, are a hideous
shape always, and are dangerously thin, things which should prevent
their being in any girl’s wardrobe.
I am often struck, particularly in crowds or in large gatherings, at the
perfectly frightful clothes most English women wear, and I have come to
the conclusion that this fact is caused by the extraordinary fondness
they seem to have for any kind of black mantle or jacket on which they
can lay their hands, and by a habit they have of crowning their heads
with any sort of hat or bonnet that may be in the fashion at the moment,
no matter whether it suits them or not, or whether they have anything
else in their possession with which it can be worn.
The tan jackets which have been so fashionable lately have in some
measure emancipated the girls from the tyranny of the black cape; but I
do wish all who dress at all would do so much more sensibly than they do
now, and would never buy a single thing without carefully reviewing
their wardrobe first, and then purchasing the addition equally
carefully, not because it is ‘lovely’ or the ‘height of the fashion,’
but because it suits the wearer, and above all suits what she already
possesses. She must never enter a shop without knowing first of all what
she really does require, and she must never allow herself to be talked
out of her own preconceived ideas; if she does she is sure to find
herself saddled with some utterly unwearable garment, and which,
moreover, matches nothing she already has in her possession. A girl
should be carefully taught what is likely to suit her, and she should,
moreover, be carefully instructed how to manage her wardrobe so that her
things may be in some measure _en suite_. For example, should she
possess a sealskin jacket, which she should if in any way possible--a
capital little coat costs about 12_l._ to 15_l._, and wears ten winters
comfortably, and can be used afterwards as linings--her winter morning
dress might be some soft brown cashmere; she could vary this by having
two or three soft silk handkerchiefs as waistcoats in the pretty
prevailing fashion of the day, and could have a dark brown, a deep
yellow, or a pale pink one. This dress would look well with the
sealskin, or with a tan jacket should the weather be too warm for the
former, and the hat should be brown or else dark blue with brown
feathers in; this would allow of the second dress being powder or
gendarme blue; this could be trimmed with bands of sealskin or soft
brown silk, and here would be every-day garments to don in October and
wear off and on until the first few warm days in May turn our thoughts
to new and lighter clothes. A best hat should always be in stock; but
this must harmonise with what she already has in the way of dresses.
These must be good; the two will then, with the help of a judicious
maid, come out again in the following autumn as very good every-day
dresses and dresses for wet Sundays, and all that will be required is an
afternoon party dress, which can also be worn on fine Sundays to church
and for afternoon wear, should Sunday callers be allowed and encouraged
in the manner I trust they are.
Summer dresses are where the strain comes on our resources, and where
the clever maid comes in so well. One can buy a print costume unmade for
about 18_s._ 6_d._, but made up in London it costs about 3_l._ 10_s._ to
4_l._; I have never seen a decently made one under this price. The maid
should suffice for these costumes, the simple banded Norfolk bodice
being easily managed, as can some of the looser bodices; and great care
should be taken to purchase about three yards more of the print than is
absolutely needed. Print dresses in our wretched climate generally last
two seasons, and, as they generally shrink in the wash, it is wise to
provide ourselves with material for new sleeves or new fronts; it can be
washed before being used to ensure that no appearance of patching is
given by the new unfaded material being placed against that which must
have faded a little during the last wear. We have discovered in Stafford
(rather ‘a far cry,’ as the Scots would say) a capital dressmaker who,
for absolutely reasonable prices, makes charming print dresses for
45_s._ and excellent material dresses for girls for about 75_s._ I know
these wear because we have tried them often and often, and, indeed, my
daughter gets all her morning dresses there. I shall not publish her
name, because I do not want her to be inundated with work or raise her
prices, but if she can manage to do this--and naturally it must pay her
to do so--why can’t London dressmakers do the same? I pause for a reply,
and in the meantime meditate ruefully on the different prices I have to
pay for my garments to those charged by the Stafford dressmaker.
I have always believed that ladies properly instructed in this art of
dressmaking, and banded together, could make a comfortable living out of
providing the garments of their fortunate sisters who had not to work.
They would not make their fortunes, but they should do well if they do
not pitchfork themselves into the place because every other work they
have tried has failed, but take it because they have had an excellent
training and are really tasteful and capable of advising about, as well
as making, the clothes, which are such a burden and trouble to most of
us. Of course they would be invaluable to the girls with a limited
allowance; they would know what was worn, what would suit them and their
purses at the same time; and they would keep a staff of humbler sewers
who would renovate the garments it should be their pride and delight to
make the very utmost of; while to those like myself, for example, who
must have suitable and pretty dresses, and have not sufficient time to
obtain this desirable end without immense expense, they would be simply
invaluable, and we should be spared making the mistakes we are
constantly making, the while we should be sure that our advancing years
should receive due notice at their skilful hands, and that we should be
suitably as well as becomingly dressed, and that at a not undue expense.
I should be very grateful to anyone who would start such an
establishment; she could charge for her advice plus the dress, as I
charge for my advice about furniture and household management, and I am
quite sure her establishment would soon be the centre of an admiring
throng of girl disciples, to say nothing of the elder women, who would
be thankful to be taken in hand, to be prevented from buying unbecoming
garments, or things which have nothing in common with the rest of their
possessions, and who could shop there in peace, knowing they would have
kindly counsel, instead of being assured lyingly by the saleswoman that
a perfectly unsuitable bonnet is the most becoming thing she has ever
seen, and that an ugly black mantle is so handsome that, given this, it
will act as charity and cover a multitude of sins in the shape of a
shabby dress; the real truth being that the gorgeous mantle only
accentuates the shabbiness, and, by adding another to the rank of the
black mantle wearers, gives another evidence of the fact that, as a
rule, Englishwomen in the street are the worst-dressed women in the
world.
To really dress well costs an immense amount of money, for to ensure
correct and pleasing dress it is absolutely necessary that all things
shall match in some measure--mantle, dress, bonnet, and hose must be _en
suite_; but if we cannot afford to go in for this we should restrict
ourselves to one or two colours at the outside, we should never buy
anything which is at the height of fashion, and, above all, we should
wear our clothes carefully, and we should not disdain to see they are
put away in an absolutely spotless condition, with each atom of dust and
dirt removed, every small necessary mending done, and with soft paper
between the folds. Unless we have this religiously seen to the
handsomest dress soon becomes draggle-tailed and shabby, while a cheap
or inferior material wears three times as long as it otherwise would do
if we see it is treated properly.
But cheap or flimsy materials should never, under any circumstances, be
bought, unless the girls can make them up themselves, to wear at home
evenings or during the summer, or unless the sewing-maid can do them;
the making and trimming cost three times as much as the stuff, which
hardly looks nice for three days, while good material pays for good
making and wears until one is really tired of being in the same garment.
When that feeling comes to us we should lay the dress aside for some
months and then take it out again; the rest actually seems to have done
the garment good, and we wear it again with pleasure, instead of
putting it on each morning with renewed dislike and distaste, as we did
before we put it into the wardrobe for the short retirement we advise.
If matrons over forty-five cannot afford to spend very much on their
garments, I do most strongly advise them to keep to black and very dark
shades of greens and reds; these, however, should be left absolutely
alone should there be any tendency to _embonpoint_, then black must be
_de rigueur_. This seems a little hard, and of course black is to a
certain extent uninteresting wear; but we can console ourselves for the
fate to which all must come by knowing that we are suitably attired, and
that, at all events, we are not making ourselves ridiculous by vying
with our daughters about our clothes.
Women are the age they look. I know some of the above-named age who do
not look a day more than thirty-five, and they therefore should dress as
they please. But the moment age begins to show let us calmly acknowledge
that our pretty days are over, and garb ourselves accordingly. We need
not be dowdy in these days. Black and dark raiment generally can be made
as nice as possible and quite festive-looking; but we should be suitably
dressed, and, after all, we don’t want either admiration or attention
then from the outside world; we are sure of both at home if we rule
rightly and are queen of the only kingdom that is worth having--the
beautiful kingdom of Home.
What does anything else matter, if we are still looked upon by our
husbands with as much pleasure and admiration as they gave us in those
never-to-be-forgotten days of courtship, and if our children consider us
nicer, kinder, and wiser than anyone else? To obtain such applause is
worth the whole struggle of living to preserve it--any amount of trouble
which we can possibly take. Therefore, let all costume themselves
suitably--the girl in the prettiest frocks she can possibly afford; the
matron quietly, becomingly, and richly; and, above all, let all consider
carefully the matching that I so strongly advocate, and let the girl who
begins her allowance always keep most correct accounts, showing these
and her paid bills when the next quarter is paid, and let her never be
too proud to ask her mother’s assistance, especially if she cannot see
her way to make both ends meet; but never pass over a debt, and let her
see you notice all she spends. It may seem a little inquisitorial, it
will really save her endless care and worry if you prevent her in any
way you can from getting into a habit of forestalling her income--a
habit that, once formed, is one that hardly anyone ever shakes off in
after life, try how one will.
The ball-dresses are the garments which try a girl more than anything,
the tulle skirts and pretty flounces, which cost so much, getting so
soon spoiled and messed; and I think the stock of the first season’s
dresses must be helped considerably by the parents, else will the poor
girl feel herself worse dressed than anyone else; and that is a small
misery that should never be allowed if in any measure it can be avoided.
The years from eighteen to twenty-one are undoubtedly the most joyous of
any a woman ever has. They are not always the happiest, taking our
standard of happiness very high, but they are the brightest, sunniest,
and most amusing that the average girl will ever have, more especially
if she have been carefully brought up in a good atmosphere and be not
tormented with those uncomfortable religious doubts and miserable
hankerings after a career and after reforming the world we some of us
had such a severe attack of at that age. I personally would not be
eighteen again for all the wealth of the Indies. Then, I thought it
extremely grand to believe in nothing, to have a gloomy satisfaction in
my superior mind, which soared above the old beliefs, and formed a misty
religion of my own, which meant nothing and led nowhere, and to indulge
in dreadful sarcasms--mentally only (I am thankful to say I did not
often utter them)--on the worldly wisdom of those folks who naturally
wished their daughters to marry well and turned cold shoulders on the
poorest and generally most undeserving of suitors, and I used to stay up
until the small hours of the morning (although I was dreadfully sleepy)
inditing the most awful verses against the rich and titled folks, whom I
naturally thought were fattening on the poor and miserable, and to whom
I intended to go on a species of socialistic crusade; and finally in
writing a big novel, which used to make me feel very much more
intellectual than most of the people I mixed with, and which, after an
evening spent among the brightest and first intellects in the world, I
used to contemplate savagely, having been made to feel very small,
though I would have died rather than confess such a thing--a feeling I
did not mean ever to experience again, once that _magnum opus_ was given
to the world and people really knew me for the genius I was. Alas! that
recognition has never come yet; still, I am very happy without it, and
am always doubly thankful my days of craving for worldwide fame have
vanished, and that I neither want that nor to believe in anything any
more.
I hope, however, there are not many girls as silly as I was then, and as
I dare say I should have continued to be had I not married--I, who
scorned the idea of the ordinary British matron, and regarded children
and household cares with bitter disgust. And during the twenty years I
have been a wife, I am always struck with wonder when I remember the
imaginative, impulsive thing that was myself so long ago, and try to
trace in my present self the miserable, ambitious cynic I fondly hoped
was some day going to set the world on fire and blossom out as a new
Thackeray or Dickens. Nothing feminine was good enough for me; I meant
to beat the men or do nothing at all.
Such a girlhood as that may be of infinite service, and was, but it
cannot be called a happy one; still, I think I was the exception, not
the rule, therefore I ask that all who can possibly manage it will see
their girls are happy as long as they are young; to give them their
allowance because they should learn how to spend money, but to add a
dress here and there, an ornament, a new trimming judiciously if in any
way you can afford it, and go without yourself rather than allow a girl
to be shabby or worry herself to death over a wearing-out garment; at
the same time let her learn to do her own repairs and have lessons in
dressmaking; make her happy, but at the same time let her help herself
to the desired end. I hope there may never be too many daughters in the
family for this allowance of 50_l._ to be an impossibility; no girl can
dress really on less. If there are, she _must_ be taught early to make
her own garments, and she must learn, furthermore, that she must spend
far more time and thought over her clothes than is good for her, should
the allowance be much less, and should she be obliged to go out into
society a good deal. As I stated at first, I am not now writing for the
young beginners, but for those whose children are growing up, and who
have made and are making a good income; I therefore trust that what I
have said about dress will be taken only by those for whom it is
intended, the Angelina of ‘From Kitchen to Garret,’ poor dear, having
often enough to do without much that she would have thought
indispensable in the old days.