nt
of the lamentable scarcity of money and closets, one is eternally
adjusting the emotion to the gown.

Some gown, seen at the exact psychological moment, fixes forever in a
man's mind his ideal garment. Thus we read of blue calico, of
pink-and-white print, and more often still, of white lawn. Mad colour
combinations run riot in the masculine fancy, as in the case of a man
who boldly described his favourite costume as "red, with black ruffles
down the front!"

Of a hat, a man may be a surpassingly fine critic, since he recks not
of style. Guileful is the woman who leads her liege to the millinery
and lets him choose, taking no heed of the price and the attendant
shock until later.

A normal man is anxious that his wife shall be well dressed because it
shows the critical observer that his business is a great success.
After futile explorations in the labyrinth, he concerns himself simply
with the fit, preferring always that the clothes of his heart's
dearest shall cling to her as lovingly as a kid glove, regardless of
the pouches and fulnesses prescribed by Dame Fashion.

In the writing of books, men are at their wits' end when it comes to
women's clothes. They are hampered by no restrictions--no thought of
style or period enters into their calculations, and unless they have a
wholesome fear of the unknown theme, they produce results which
further international gaiety.

Many an outrageous garment has been embalmed in a man's book, simply
because an attractive woman once wore something like it when she fed
the novelist. Unbalanced by the joy of the situation, he did not
accurately observe the garb of the ministering angel, and hence we
read of "a clinging white gown" in the days of stiff silks and rampant
crinoline; of "the curve of the upper arm" when it took five yards for
a pair of sleeves, and of "short walking skirts" during the reign of
bustles and trains!

In _The Blazed Trail_, Mr. White observes that his heroine was clad in
brown which fitted her slender figure perfectly. As Hilda had yellow
hair, "like corn silk," this was all right, and if the brown was of
the proper golden shade, she was doubtless stunning when Thorpe first
saw her in the forest. But the gown could not have fitted her as the
sheath encases the dagger, for before the straight-front corsets there
were the big sleeves, and still further back were bustles and
_bouffant_ draperies. One does not get the impression that _The_
_Blazed Trail_