bard in thinking that "Self-love is not so vile a
thing as self-neglect."

It is decidedly better to think too much than too little. It is a duty
to your country and your nation to look your best, no matter who is
likely to see you.

Of course it can be overdone, _e.g._, the lady who insisted on her
bonnet being trimmed on the right because that was the side presented
to the congregation! And she, I am afraid, is only a type of many.

There is no reason why this should be the rule; yet nearly everyone
seems to bring out their new clothes on Sunday, and exhibit them in
Church. I suppose it is because they meet so many friends there, and
with laudable unselfishness wish them all equally to enjoy the sight.

"What's the good of your going to church?" a man said to me once; "you
only go to show off your gown and look about to see who has a new
bonnet and who has not! Now, when _I_ go," he went on in a superior
way, "I don't notice a single thing anyone has on!"

"No," I answered quietly, "but you could tell me exactly how many
pretty girls were amongst the congregation, and describe their
features accurately!" And he not only forbore to deny the accusation,
but admitted it with pride! No girl, he assured me, with any pretence
to good looks, ever escaped _his_ notice.

Which was the worse, I wonder; he or I? At least I did not glory in my
misdeeds.

"_Il faut souffrir pour etre belle_;" and I _have_ suffered sometimes.
How often I used to burn myself when I first began to curl my hair!
This is such an arduous task, too, with me, for my hair is, as my old
nurse used to call it, "like a yard o' pumpwater" (I never went to her
when I wanted a compliment). It certainly is straight, and I find it a
matter of great difficulty to give it the appearance of natural
curls. But "practice makes perfect," they say, so I still persevere,
hoping that it may come right some day. I have to be so careful in
damp and rainy weather. It is such a shock to look at yourself after a
day's outing, to find your "fringe" hanging in straight lines all down
your forehead, an arrangement that is so particularly unbecoming. You
begin to wonder at what time during the day it commenced to unbend,
and if you have had that melancholy, damp appearance many hours.
Perhaps it is as well that you did not know before, for it could not
have been rectified; you cannot bring a pair of tongs and a
spirit-lamp out of your pocket and begin operations in public!