"We may here properly observe that American women would be a great deal better dressed if they would more carefully consult simplicity and sobriety in the colors and arrangement of their costumes, especially such as are worn in public places. For a ball or evening party, it is allowable to be elaborately dressed, gay and brilliant; but the spectacles of dress we have seen during our visits to the exhibition have often been the reverse of grateful to the eye. Ladies we have seen who, no doubt, fancied themselves very splendid, poor things, because they were arrayed in the hues of the rainbow—a bonnet of pink perhaps, a dress of bright blue, or of some gay changeable silk, or mantilla of yellow, and a parasol of white. We have often longed to advise such unlucky persons to go to their hotel, and put on the neat and appropriate travelling-dress they had discarded for this horrible finery. Let our fair readers then be aware that the well-dressed lady is the one who appears in the street, or in public places, in the fewest, simplest, and least conspicuous colors, choosing, of course, such of the neutral hues as are most suited to her complexion, and having every part of her attire of the most scrupulous fit, neatness, and propriety.
"For perfect taste, the Parisian is unrivalled, and you will often see her dressed in a single neutral color—bonnet, dress, cloak, and gloves nearly the same shade. Next to her in the art of dress is the Philadelphia Quakeress, who has discarded the awkward and angular forms of costume prescribed by her sect, but adheres to its simple and sober colors. No class of American women are so well dressed in the street, and, indeed, no other class of women in the world are dressed better, save only the ladies of Paris, who matchless in taste, and perfect in the most refined science of costume."
A BIT OF SHOPPING GOSSIP.
"On dress, of course," perhaps you say—a safer subject for gossip than the reputation of one's neighbors; but everybody knows shopping is considered a legitimate amusement, from the good substantial purchases of the farmer's wife, who exchanges butter and cheese for her teas and cottons, to the wife of the Fifth Avenue millionaire, whose bill at Stewart's for a single year would purchase the homestead for which the farmer pays by the sweat of brow. Let us see how they manage this feminine accomplishment on the other side of the water.
"When you go to buy gloves in Paris, a young lady not only knows what size you wear by intuition, but actually tries on a pair, putting them on you with her pliant fingers, and, if the glove does not fit, takes it off and throws it by! And you are told what colors to wear in the street—what in the evening; and white kids are never worn here, except to balls. Gloves for evening are made with two and three buttons at the wrist, and never have any kind of lace or trimmings at the top.
"Now, as to prices, I find everything a little dearer here than in New York; a bonnet, for instance, without feathers or flowers, costs from 90 to 100f.; a velvet cloak 350, 400, or 500f.; a simple headdress 50f. I suppose there are common stores, where articles are cheap; but who wants to come to Paris and buy such things as one sees in Canal Street or the Bowery, at home?
"The embroideries are so exquisite! One never sees real Parisian needle-work for sale in America; for there are certain stores which only work from orders, and not to sell to merchants, and it is in these little shops one must go to learn what French embroidery is. For pocket-handkerchiefs, there is a store in the Rue de la Paix, No. 11, where nothing is sold but 'French cambric handkerchiefs, from one franc to 1,500 each,' and where they embroider your name, or 'coronet or crest,' when you have purchased of them. I find mouchoirs, embroidered in colors (blue, red, and violet), are very much used.
"You may tell the ladies at home that curls are entirely the fashion here now, and as long as the hair will admit, even to the waist (in front). There are no great puffs at the temple, such as are worn in New York. The narrow fronts to the bonnets forbid those now. Curls are termed à l'Anglais, and ladies of a certain age wear their gray curls as gracefully as young ones do their ringlets of auburn and black."